First interview
by postgate
Summary: Getting a job at the Xmansion is always going to be tough but if you are a nonmutant with too many connections on both sides of the mutant war... well it should be interesting anyway! Completed 22.3.08. Give it a go! Reviews appreciated
1. In which there are teeth

Don't own them. Don't sue.  
  
Knocking on the door of a place like this is the kind of thing that's designed to give you a heart attack. Actually it turns out they've got a door bell but I didn't realise that until after I'd knocked so I felt even more of an idiot by the time the door was opened. I can only assume the kid who let me in was a student and I have to say she made me regret applying for the job. Young, pretty, confident and with a smile to rival a crocodile. I feel fourteen again and jealous of my big sister's friends. "This is why I don't teach high school kids," I thought. Damn.  
  
"Hah, ah'm Rohg, c'monin, yeuw murst bai Ms Jaicobsson, therway'in ferya," she said offering her hand. I felt a furrow form in my forehead as I tried to decipher the code. It had to be English but I only caught my name.  
  
"Hi," I tried. I shook the proffered hand. Even though I know it's normal here I've always found handshaking a bit strange. I didn't actually notice the glove until I felt the material, which just goes to show how flustered I was. This was seriously not good, no way was I getting this job.  
  
I followed the kid down the hallway, nice hallway by the way, until she stopped in front of a dark wood door and knocked quietly. The door was opened by a tallish dark haired guy, who smiled almost as well as the girl did.  
  
"Thank you Rogue. Come in Ms Jacobson." I could have kissed him. I understood every word he said and the relief caused me to grin at him.  
  
"Thanks," I said to the kid still grinning and then I remembered my teeth and tried not to smile too much. When I was talking to the guy at immigration who was searching my luggage, I think he was hoping I would have a bomb, he told me he knew I was British by my teeth. I forgave him his rudeness figuring that he probably didn't know any better, but it did make me paranoid.  
  
He ushered me into the room and started on the introduction. "This is Ororo Munroe, Dr. Hank McCoy and I'm Scott Summers." I did the hi-nice-to-meet- you thing as Scott made his way round the table to sit between the other two. Clearly this man was in charge of the panel, which made me nervous because he also seemed the youngest of them. No-one mentioned the fact that the man on the left was enormous and blue so I didn't say anything either. He caught me looking, but I gave him my nice friendly "good-morning-class" smile and he returned it. Isn't that nice? I got the sinking feeling that it would be exceedingly easy to make this man fall in love with me. He looked like a geek, geeks have a tendency to fall for me. I'm still not sure why.  
  
"Do have a seat, Ms Jacobsson," said the one Summers had called Ororo Munroe.  
  
I turned to smile at her too. "Amanda," I said, "and thanks." I sat, carefully. Christ, were all the women in this place beautiful? I could forgive the kid, it's difficult for 16 year old girls not to look fabulous but this woman had to have ten years on me and she still looked fantastic. Maybe this McCoy character was a plastic surgeon. 


	2. In which Buddha appears

The Summers character had a good line in benign smiles and I was beginning to feel intimidated again, "Definitely a Mr Summers" I thought. In fact the smile was beginning to remind me of one of my step-brother's Buddha statues. He's got this meditation room set up with incense and cushions and everything and while I know Buddha is supposed to be all reassuring and stuff, frankly he makes me nervous. When I was at school there was a German teacher who looked like that every time she gave you lines. She was even happier if you got a detention. I think you should at least make the effort to look pissed off with the little buggers. Anyway, Mr Summers reminded me of Buddha and her in about equal measures.  
  
"How about we start by telling you a little about the Institute before we get into an interview?" he asked.  
  
"That would be nice." Aren't we all getting on nicely?  
  
"Well, as you may know this is a school for gifted youngsters, that is young people with mutant abilities." Smile and nod, try not to look surprised, merely politely interested. "Obviously," he continued, "many of these young people have had a number of difficulties coming to terms with their abilities and sadly many of them find they are rejected by their families and communities."  
  
"No shit Sherlock," I thought but managed not to say, I even avoided a pubescent eye-roll. Damn I'm good. Instead I smiled and nodded deciding to convey sympathy, concern and a sense of being appalled by those kinds of families. I did a slight nose wrinkle and furrowed brow combo followed by a little shake of the head and sympathetic smile.  
  
"As a result we are obviously involved in a variety of outreach programs, as well as what some of the students like to call 'rescue missions'." He gave an indulgent little smile as if the kids were being over dramatic. I suddenly got the feeling he was being about as false as I was. "Many of the staff members at the Institute attended here as part of their own schooling and we are all highly committed to the safety and well being of our charges."  
  
"I'm sure," I smiled sincerely. I hate this. At some point some one's going to have to admit to having a personality.  
  
"Now as I'm sure you will know, Professor Xavier..." he pronounced it Ex- avier and I felt the smirk before I could control it. Hex-avier darling, thank God he said it before I did. I looked down at my hands trying to hide the smirk and didn't hear the rest of his sentence at all. Oh well, it probably wasn't important. Ex-avier. Don't giggle.  
  
"Indeed," I said as if I had heard every word. Hex-ecuse me Hex-avier hcould you parss me the butter. I sank my teeth into my tongue and maintained the smile.  
  
"As a result we have access to some very high quality facilities, but we are very much concerned about keeping our activities out of the public eye." I was nodding sagely when an alarm went off. We all stared round at each other for a bit before Mr Summers pulled himself together and stood up. The rest of us followed suit. "Hank, could you escort Ms Jacobsson on a tour of the facilities whilst Ororo and I..." he trailed off.  
  
"Certainly," replied the genial blue giant as the other two walked briskly and calmly out of the interview.  
  
"Was it something I said?" I wondered. 


	3. In which there is a rugby player

So here I am, being shown around another school, talking to a reasonably nice guy from the interview panel and all my stupid brain can focus on is the fact that he is blue. And furry. And enormous. But most of all BLUE. So far we'd seen a load of classrooms and were now in a sports hall type affair and I have no idea what in heaven's name we've talked about because in my head I've had the phrase: "So, have you always been blue?" buzzing round. That is the only thing I know for certain I HAVEN'T said.

So in the end I just thought, sod it, I'm not going to get the job anyway I might as well learn something while I'm here. So I paused in the middle of what appeared to be a basketball court opened my eyes very wide like a four-year-old and said "Are mutants often blue?" and to my amazement he grinned. At least I think it was a grin, but what with all those enormous straight-white teeth I was a little bit distracted. Or possibly dazzled.

"Not habitually," he said, "although I am certainly not unique amongst the genus."

"But it's not common?" I checked, mostly because I wanted to dispel my mental image of classes full of furry blue teenage wrestlers.

"No indeed."

"And you went to school here?" I asked, just managing to stop the "and you were blue then?" that wanted to follow.

"That is the case."

"And are you and MD or a PhD Doctor?" I asked.

"I am a medical doctor." I'm not kidding this is exactly how the man talked. He ee-nun-see-ay-ted and sounded like he was saying indeed even when he wasn't.

"Can I ast where yuh trained?" I asked my accent always goes into the Thames when people talk posh at me. I'm not from the Thames, you understand, but my voice sometimes thinks it is.

"Ah, yes, I understand your confusion," he said and the next thing I knew I was looking at a seven-foot-tall, shoulders-out-to-Zimbabwe, front row forward who looked like he should be playing for the New Zealand all blacks. "Jesuswept," I said and took an involuntary step backwards. I'm always nervous in the presence of rugby players. "Yuh seem smaller blue." The rugby player flicked back into the more reassuring figure of Dr McCoy and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's a rather clever device called an image inducer. It doesn't change the shape of the subject, merely the outward appearance. We invented it in shop class before I went to college."

"Right," I said weakly. He must have terrified his patients into pretending they were well.

"Shall I show you the grounds?" Dr McCoy asked gently. "You look a little pale and you might benefit from a little fresh air."

Who, me?


	4. Which concerns outreach programs

Storm and Cyclops are running down a corridor in their nice scary leather X-Men uniforms. Neither of them show any sign of laboured breathing during the course of the following conversation.

Storm:"Outreach programmes?"

Cyclops: "I did mention the fact that the kids call them rescue missions."

Storm: "And you made that sound as if they were being ridiculous."

Cyclops: "I didn't want to intimidate her. The Professor is pretty certain about wanting her to work here."

Storm: "Well she hasn't convinced me."

They reach the hanger, enter the blackbird.

Cyclops: "To be fair, we haven't actually started the interview process properly yet."

Storm: "She isn't a mutant. She's not trained to teach teenagers. She won't be able to handle this school."

Cyclops: "Well, she'll be teaching a class tomorrow morning where we'll be able to assess those things. Now all we have to do is go find Remy."

Storm: "I'm not convinced he should be on staff either."

Cyclops just smiles.


	5. In which twinkies are eaten

One thing I'll say for this place is that it has magnificent grounds. Right now I'm sitting on an immaculate lawn in the company of a blue, furry, looks-like-a-rugby-player-but-is-really-a-doctor and my blood pressure is thinking about picking itself up off the floor. "Would you like a twinkie?" asked Dr McCoy. "The sugar will help you recover."

I'm recovering from seeing the man in all his non-blue glory. I should say gory. There is something indescribably icky about big white men. There is also something icky about twinkies, but I think I'm going to have to eat this one or risk offending boy blue.

"Thank you," I said and I managed and bright insincere smile to go with it. Twinkies are orange sponges with a line of white plastic sweetness running through the centre of them. I'm pretty sure they are a chemical weapon, or at least an insecticide. The best thing I can say about them is that they don't require much chewing so you can at least get them out of your mouth quickly.

"Mmmm," I manage whilst my tongue is saying "Eeeeuch!" I can hardly say that out loud when Dr McCoy is looking so pleased and eating one himself with every sign of enjoyment. We sat for a while in silence, each thinking our own thoughts before he asked:

"What was it like working for MI6?"

"Dull," I said, and then nearly bit my tongue off. "How do you know I worked for MI6? I _never_ put that on my c.v. I don't think I'm even _allowed_ to put that on my c.v."

He grinned. "We have a rather efficient intelligence network. You must understand that for us to provide adequate security for our pupils we require fairly exhaustive searches of employment records."

"So you know why I got sacked from my paper round then?" I asked. This was a bluff, I never had a paper round, but if he said yes I'd know he was as big a liar as I was and if he said no he'd be conceding their security checks weren't as exhaustive as he made out. I may look like a dappy cow, and act like a dappy cow, but sometimes I can be cunning like a dappy fox. Plus nothing pisses me off more than people acting like they know me.

"You were _sacked_ from a paper round?" Oh yeah, technically still a job interview. Not supposed to have a personality. Real cunning Amanda. Mind you from the look of McCoys face you'd think I committed murder. All I did was pretend I got sacked from a kiddie job. Personally I hardly count this as deal, let alone a big deal.

"Um, I think technically I resigned…" and inside my head a voice is screaming "Tell him you were kidding!" but that would mean admitting I was a liar as opposed to a flake. Actually I'm both, but it's best not to admit too much in one afternoon. "It was my dad's fault, he didn't like me having a job and he got his mates to ring up my boss and say I hadn't delivered to their houses. Daft bugger. So staff live on campus then?" Great idea, change the subject, I'm sure he won't notice.

"Indeed, it is in the nature of the school that we need to be secluded from the outside world."

"And how big is the staff?"

"After the planned expansions there should be ten full time staff, and we have an efficient mentoring system where the older students work with…"

He went on to explain the mentoring (great idea by the way) and the systems of cooking and cleaning rotas and so on and so forth. And I'm thinking this: Fair play to them, they've got a good system, they care about their kids, they want this to work and while I may not want to live in the States, this place has a value that I like. I really have to get my head around the word Ex-avier before I meet him tomorrow. Don't giggle.


	6. Which features an alarm

Have you ever had one of those days in school where you just feel like you have to get the hell out of there? One of those days where all you can think of is the stream of sunlight that's going to hit you when you finally make that bid for freedom? One of those hellish midweek days, when you know you aren't going to make it to third period simply because the idea of staying indoors a second longer is making you crazy? On of those days when you can't even remember where you were supposed to be in third period anyway so there can't possible be any point in turning up anyway. And, let's face it, it wasprobably German? Have you ever had on of _those_ days? I'm in the middle of one of those days and I am running down a corridor that I'm sure would be more familiar to me if my mind wasn't focussed on escape. And I have a terrible feeling it is all about to go horribly wrong.

WHAM!

That was it, I knew it. If I had a mutation it would be an ability to predict the future. "Hi Mr Summers."

"Where are you supposed to be?" I love the way teachers mix things. Long-suffering, irritated, disappointed, and yet do I detect a hint of not giving a damn where I am? I think I do…

"Music. D9. I'm really sorry, I'm late I had to…" since I'm retreating down the corridor and I'm turning a corner on the end of the sentence there doesn't seem to be any pressing need to finish it. Except for one thing. Turning out of a classroom, a pile of exercise books in her arms - maybe if I walk she won't notice me. Head down, busy like, lot of kids looking just like me…

"Ah... Ms Jacobson, and where exactly are you supposed to be?" This one doesn't sound disinterested. This one sounds more like she knows all about me, and is not overly impressed by what she knows. I stop in my tracks and turn and smile my patented fake smile.

"Mr Logan's art class in H2. I'm running late because Mr Summers kept me back in maths." Half a lie, he did, last Friday.

"Well lucky for you I was heading that way anyway. I can make sure you don't get lost, and I'll have a word with Mr Logan, make sure he understands about you being late."

"Wow thanks Ms Munroe." The smile solidifies to stone. I'm terrified. I need to get out of here and the escape route is so totally blocked. I'm dead meat. I'm also dead curious, because so far this dream is well confusing and I'm just dying to know what's going to happen next. There aren't many places you can't have fun if you have a healthy dose of curiosity

Beep-beEP-BEEP-WHAM! Click.

Obviously what would happen next would be my alarm going off. Obviously I don't get to find out what was going to happen next. Obviously now I have to go and teach teenagers rather than cutting class. DAMN. I grabbed the alarm clock and dragged it towards me. Wait a minute. Why would I set my alarm for 4.30 in the morning. I wouldn't. that's insane. In fact it hasn't been set for 4.30 in the morning. It's still set for eight in the morning. And then there is this discrete cough and I'm glaring into the gloomy room and trying to find my sodding glasses. Worryingly they found me first.


	7. Which contains excesses of petulance

"What are you doing here?" It didn't cover the shock and irritation of having been woken up, but it was all I could manage on 30 seconds of consciousness and a rising scowl headache.

"I could ask you the same question." And there we have it. Full on scowl headache. Justlike a thirteen years old about to storm out of, like, where_Ever. God._

"If you asked that question," I said unclenching my jaw and carefully not assaulting anybody, "it would mean what am I doing in this school in the US. When _I_ asked that question I meant what are you doing here, in my bedroom, making my alarm go off at four thirty in the MORNING," control, "ahem, when I have an assessed fucking lesson to teach first thing TOMORROW." Okay, so I know it's not exactly an object lesson in control, but give me a break here, I'm trying.

"You still have quite a remarkable temper," he replied calmly.

"Can't imagine why," I muttered. "Go away."

"I need you to do something for me."

I paused. Pauses are useful, they make people think you are thinking. "Let me make this clear," and now I had myself under more awake control I was able to making my voice as cold as I could, "I do not work for you. I cannot help it if my brother is interested in your organisation. I'm. Not. I can see you point. I respect your right to your opinions. Really I do, but as a non-mutant I maintain my opinion that destroying non-mutants is a little extreme. Go. Away."

"I can make sure you get this job."

I sat up and glared at him. "Look, sir, I know I ruined a couple of your lessons, and I never learned to identify and capitalise nouns properly in class, but I really think your new career path is a bit much. I take back what I said. You're awonderful teacher. I really think you should go back to it…"

"Ms Jacobson, I wouldn't be attempting to enlist your assistance unless it was truly necessary but please understand if you persist in denying me your co-operation there will be consequences." It was the same tone he used when he was trying to force me to confess that I had switched his whiteboard pen for an indelible marker. It didn't work that time either.

"Mr Lehnsherr, you have thirty seconds before I start screaming." There is nothing like being threatened to make me calm.

"I know where your mother is."

"Seven, eight, nine."

"Very well. I will leave. My next request will be delivered through your brother."

And he turned and left. I made a frowny face and went for a bit of self-pity. It's not fair. I like my brother, and I'm sure the non-mutant hating thing is just a phase. And now I'm going to feel dead uncomfortable next time he rings me. Fucking German teachers.

"I TAKE IT BACK!" I called with more petulance than an adult ought to use. "YOU ARE WORST TEACHER EVER!" Actually I didn't, because it's difficult to shout at an empty room, but I did think it loudly, which counts for something, right?

I need a muffin. With blueberrys.


	8. In which there is a lack of planning

When I got down to the staff canteen there were altogether too many people for this time of day on a Tuesday morning. They were all of them, without exception, talking far to loudly in what can only be described as unashamedly American accents. Hank had told me that most of the staff turn out for the early morning P.E session. I'm aware that it would have been good form to show my face and look keen, what with last night and all it just wasn't about to happen this morning. I felt pretty pissed off with all the people making noise but fortunately, what with the way I wake up and all, there was no way anyone would be able to tell. My face is made of stone for the first three hours of any given day.

Mr Summers was back and beckoning me over with his fork. I hate people who use forks first thing in the morning. I can occasionally manage a spoon, but generally end up eating with my fingers at this time of day. Cutlery requires excess co-ordination. I ignored him until I had a doughnut and coffee between my thumb-like fingers. Mmmm stale cake, my favourite.

I went over to Mr Summers and sat down opposite him, trying not to choke on powdered sugar. I gave him an attempt at a smile and went for Good morning. It ended up as "'Ng." Close enough. I raised my eyebrows to indicate he should talk now.

"Hi there I hope you slept well," he said. I shut my eyes and bobbed my head, 'Yeah great thanks' transmuted itself into: "Hm."

"Good, well I have a little news," he told me seeming dead happy about it. I bobbed my head again.

"Well I know you were asked to prepare an English lesson," he said, "but the way it's worked out Ororo has had to stay over in Louisiana and we need someone to cover a History class."

I managed the first part of okay and gave another eyebrow raise of assent.

He smiled, actually it wasn't that bad of a smile. Smug, but not actively bad. "Actually it's a great opportunity for you to demonstrate your flexibility," he told me. "This sort of thing happens a lot, it's inevitable in this type of institution that last minute changes need to be made. We all need to have a working knowledge across the board so that when something like this comes up the kids don't miss out." Shit. He was an evil conniving bastard in a position of power, and smug with it. My life would be so much less complicated if instead of falling for people like this I fell for people like Dr. McCoy. Dr McCoy, just like a big fluffy pillow came over and sat down next to me. It took all my energy not to fall instantly asleep on his shoulder.

I finished my doughnut, trying not to gaze to blatantly at Mr Summers and concentrating on not falling asleep on Hank. "You got copies of plans?" I asked once I was two coffees in and consequently able to form words.

"Well, um I'll have a look and see what 'Ro gave me," he said. Something told me to go with him. I felt a knowing smile covering my face. I stood up to follow him out of the room. "You can stay here and finish your breakfast if you like," he tried, which proved to me I was right.

"That's okay I'm about done," I replied happily filling my cup with coffee again. As we left the room I noticed Dr McCoy looked as amused as I felt.

"You'll have to excuse the mess," he said opening the study door. I was so right it split my face into an enormous grin. His study was a heap. Books, papers, mugs and a couple of very thirsty looking plants. Ha. "Um," he said looking embarrassed. "Weekly plans normally end up over here," he suggested trying a pile. I shook my head and bit my lips to keep from saying 'cold'. He moved between piles in an uncertain charade of looking whilst inside my head a voice chanted 'warm, warmer, oh no colder, freezing' He had probably lost more Medium Term plans than most teachers have ever written. How satisfying. Eventually I got bored of watching and interrupted, after all I did need to plan the lesson.

"Look, don't worry about the plans," I said, "do you have any idea what subject area she was intending to teach?" I asked.

"I'm sure they are in here somewhere," he said.

"You'll find them once my lesson's finished," I told him. "They'll be right in the middle of the desk." I smiled to show I was joking and I didn't blame him. For some reason I sometimes make people feel a bit defensive when I say stuff like that. "Do you know what area of time and space she was planning to cover?"

"I believe she was about to start on the War for Independence." And that one phrase suppressed any further urge I might have had to laugh. What I know about that war could be written on the back of a postage stamp. Aside from a hazy idea that it was in some way linked to the whole 4th July fireworks night (and by the way, fireworks in JULY, honey what were you thinking?) I was at a loss. I'm not bad after the 1920's but before that my history education more or less ignored the States.

Who was it that they got independence from anyway? The French wasn't it?

independence from anyway? The French wasn't it?


	9. What is in a name

"Hi there," I said, knowing instantly it was a mistake, like I was trying to be something I wasn't, an American. Still, I can't bear 'Good Morning' as a greeting, it is far too wholesome for its own good. I raise my voice a little, "Can I get a little hush please, thank you very much, okay, so, I'm Amanda Jacobson and I'm going to be taking your history class this morning because Ms Munroe is unfortunately unable to be here."

I can hear adolescent mutterings in the room, but frankly the last time I took a teenager seriously I was twelve. "Mr Summers," is scaring the crap out of me in the back row, "is here to make sure that you all treat me with the same respect that you would show all your other teachers," Like you didn't already guess that the sarcastic noises increase, I catch the eye of the kid who opened the door to me and grin. "Yeah, little bit more than you give him maybe?" I add as an aside and am rewarded with the crocodile smile. Note to self, don't amuse these people, you could end up permanently blinded. Maybe that's why Mr Summers wears those sunglasses.

"First things first," I lean against the edge of the desk and try to block out Mr Summers in the corner of the room. He is writing things down. I hate when they write things down. "As I said, my name is Amanda Jacobson and you can call me some combination of those names, whatever you feel comfortable with."

"Can we call you Jake?" the usual kid (adolescent male need I say more?) asks, surprising me with an Australian accent.

I raise my eyebrows and shrug a little, "My brothers do, so I'll probably respond to it."

"Can we call you Man?" another kid asks. Time to stop this conversation methinks

"You could give it a go, but I probably won't realise you're talking to me," a titter of amusement.

"Thanks I will," the kid mutters and the others look at him like he's something. I suppress a laugh since it isn't nice to laugh at pupils.


	10. In which we discover various opinions on...

"Right, so Ms Munroe tells me," I'm holding my own hastily scribbled and totally illegible notes up as if I'm reading this stuff, "that you were about to start some work on the American War for Independence." Which information, of course, is met with rapturous applause. "I'm guessing that you've all studied this at some point before, but probably with different teachers, different opinions, all that… So what I'm gonna do first is a little bit of fact finding, see what you already know."

"She means a test," Man boy mutters.

"Ah hay-yet tersts," door girl mutters incomprehensibly to the kid sitting next to her.

"Ya ain't gonna give es a test are ye Jake," Oz calls out.

"Nah, tests suck," I reply like it was just me and him in the room, "I'd have to know all the answers and mark 'em and all that stuff. Can't be havin' wiv it."

"So what are we going to do?" asks a kid who sounds like one of those God awful rich kid types who pay attention all the time and turns in homework. On time. Yuck.

"Well I figure we could pool our knowledge as a class and produce Ms Munroe's essays for her, based on stuff we already know." Mr Summers has stopped writing and is looking faintly horrified. So is rich kid.

"So who wants to start us off?" I ask hopefully. Actually, it's not just rich kid, a lot of these people are looking at me as if I dropped and e with my cornflakes. Welcome to slackers ed.

"No takers?" I ask hopefully, "come on, someone must know something about this whole war thing. I mean it's your country right?" The kids are starting to exchange glances and any second now someone is going to put up their hand and give me some information. It's now or never, I glance over at Mr Summers like someone poking a bad tooth, just to feel the jolt of adrenaline.


	11. In which we declare war in ignorance Ahe...

"Okay, then I'll start, now I'll admit I didn't know much about this when I started looking at the internet this morning but this is what I found out," I pause for effect, the class looks more relaxed now. Back on familiar territory. "In," I glance at the paper, "1952, apparently, a bloody revolution swept out of Boston against the might of what was then the Uzbek Empire. With the help of the Mexicans many former Uzbek states were in uproar over, um, some… I think it was to do with trade…" I'm squinting seriously at the page now, "hang on it's in here somewhere… Right, trade in peanuts apparently. Oh wait I think I saw a cartoon about this once," I glance round at the class. They are looking aghast. "Problem?"

"1952?" posh girl says.

"Peanuts," Man boy grins.

"And whut exacktly eis the Urzbeck Empahre?" asks door girl.

"Okay, so I'm messing you around," I admit. "Why?" I sit back on the desk and give them my cynical look. Yeah right like you have a clue.

"So way dohn't jurst tayke informaytion fo graynted," said door girl. I ran it through in my head, I think I'm getting the hang of it now, it's just a matter of figuring out where one word stops and the next one starts.

"One reason," I say, holding up a finger. "What else?"

"Because you don't actually know anything," posh girl withers me with disdain. I thrive on it, sweetheart, bring it on.

I point at her and grin, "Fair play to you kid," I say, "not got much of a clue about this one me, so let me ask you this: I just told you a bunch of obvious lies all of which you can find on the internet." Or you will be able to by the time this class is over, providing my brother isn't messing this up to spite non-mutants called Amanda today. "There was no way you were going to believe it, but how could you go about telling me what did happen?

"What I want you people to do is to pool your knowledge. All the stuff you know, all the stuff you think you know, whatever the source, and we're going to see who else says it's true, what other possibilities there are. Put it in notes, you," I point to rich "and you," I point to Oz "can scribe. Just notes. Brainstorming, on the whiteboard kiddies, you're going to have to stand up. The rules are these, anyone can speak, show me your hand if you want to though and I'll point to the next speakers in order. Back each other's points. Take 'em further if you can. Give a source if you can remember one, even if it's 'Mississ Jules my kindergarten teacher said…' it's better to know where these things come from. And ask questions, whatever you want to know, we'll put those in a different colour.

"These are going to be your notes for your essays, so make sure you've got good stuff. Tell these characters where to put your piece of information, what it links with. Information and questions. You." I indicate door girl. "Name then info."

"Rohgue,…."

And then my brain is entirely taken up with getting everyone to have a turn,remembering the names (as if you could ever forget the name Jubilee, I used to live on that line) and not at all taken up with deciphering what people are saying. Posh (surname Pryde first name… damned if I know) turns out to be a great little typist so I set her on that and get Oz (John, should be easy to remember right) changing colours and moving information once it's on the whiteboard. I don't think he's ever been allowed to play with the interactive whiteboards before. Wonderful things.

Bells, I'm hearing bells. "But for Christ's sake CHECK the information, include a source, I've seen you library. AND WRITE DOWN THEY KEY! Pink already knew, Yellow human source - WITH a name please - and green outside reference." I'm knackered. Where's the coffee. I need to go and do some research so I can mark these bloody things now. Ohhh.

"Hi Mr Summers, so what did you think?" Remember, you can only groan on the _inside_ until you've got a job.


	12. In which we introduce Bananaman

So here I am, in the staff room with an enormous pile of books researching the American War for Independence, with a degree of seriousness this time. It's no good setting a piece of work unless you can do it, and preferably do it better then the kiddiewinks. And I although may have implied that I was going to get Ms Munroe to do the marking, in teaching circles that's suicide. You set it, you mark it. It's that simple. So anyway, here I am, swiping true statements in pink highlighter and adding a source, swiping false truths with the green highlighter and planning an epic internet search for extra gory details and trying to stay awake. All this with a sense of impending doom. How dull are these books? Bloody historians.

Actually, in a way I'm pretty impressed with how much the kids knew, but there are holes you could drive a covered wagon through. They need to be filled and it would be politic to let Ms Munroe know what they are before I get told I don't have a job here. Pausing to braid my hair off my face (I really should carry a hair tie) I hear the staff room door click open. And who should walk in but this same Ms Ororo Munroe. Actually, technically speaking, she didn't walk. She stalked. Like a lioness about to shake some sense into a cub. My dream last night was remarkably accurate, I really wouldn't want to cross this lady. Behind hercame a younger guy emanating frustration and injured pride like a teen. Assuming him to be the shake-ee I determinedly buried my nose in my book and tried not to breathe too loudly.

I'm not going to pretend I didn't recognise said shake-ee. Partly because he has a MI file that is even bigger than Herr Lensherr's,partly because he isn'tsomeone you forget, even if you've only seen the photos.Remy LeBeau. The price on him is huge. And justified. I hope these books are big enough to hide me.

Oh Lord, or whoever's listening, please don't let them see me, I know we aren't exactly best mates and all, but if you could just see your way clear to letting them not see me I swear I'll live a better, cleaner and more healthy life. I'll cut down on sarcasm, I'll do a proper job on my marking, I'll talk Ollie down from non-mutant destruction. Anything. Look I'll even read this book properly and take it seriously. "The selfishness of the British…bla bla bla" Yeah, okay, maybe I won't do that last one. I could say an Our Father if you like. I'm pretty sure I can remember it from school. Or how about: HELP! BANANAMAN! SAVE ME! Don't laugh they'll notice you.

And while all of this is going on in my head I just can't help overhearing a little bit of the conversation at the other side of the room. They may be whispering, but without sticking my fingers in my ears and humming I'm not going to be able to avoid hearing that this was a major dressing down. Hissed words like irresponsible and taking care of your own past mistakes come slithering across the room to me like venom. And I can feel LeBeau's eyes sliding towards me, hating that there's a witness to this. So not good.

At "selfishness" I realise that this is the third time I've read this paragraph, but I don't care my tummy just turned to ice. Don't matter a damn what the lady says to him; Remy is going down. I don't want to make a prediction of when or where but it's going to happen. You can't cause three female field agents to defect and get away with it. Especially when their partners are still in the service. "It's just a matter of time, sweedart," I want to say, "don't get too attached."

The conversation on the other side of the room finishes with; "Wait in here, I don't want the kids seeing you until after you've spoken to the Professor." The door shuts, probably slightly more loudly than is strictly necessary. Come to think of it there was a bit of a wierd dynamic going on in that conversation. Who am I trying to kid I was earwigging. What can I tell you, I'm nosy. But now I'm on my own in a room with acrazy guy with an explosive temper. BANANAMAN! HE-LOOO!

A vehement "Merde," from across the room makes me jump about three inches off my seat, but I'm keeping my eyes on the selfish-British book. That is until the heat on the top of my head and the prickle in my neck tells me that I'm being stared at and it isn't going to go away. Yep, Merde, I concur.


	13. In which a grudge war is revealed

He was leaning against a wall when I gathered the courage to glance up, and he had a puss on him like I personally had stolen all his toys. He raised his chin a quarter of an inch in an acknowledgement of my existence. "You' Mick Jacobsons sister aren' you?"

No conversation that starts with a reference to Mick can ever end well. It's an unwritten law. Mick's like the anti-Ollie. He's so law abiding it frightens me. Plus, in this case, it's even worse since I happen to know that one of the agents who defected under LeBeau's auspices was Mick's. "Who me?" I query. His face goes sarcastic. "Oh, no. Nope. Not me. No Mick in my family. Actually I don't think I even know anyone called Mick." Deer caught in headlamps are eloquent compared to me. Hey, when did I stand up? I don't remember standing up. I think I may be a little tense. Please don't make me wallpaper, a little voice at the back of my brain whispers as I surreptitiously edge towards the window.

"Don' lie to Remy, fille, he's no' in de mood for it." He pushes away from the wall and takes a step towards me. He's between me and the door. But not between me and the window. O' window full of blue freedom. I mean what's two floors between friends. I'd probably only break a leg or two on the way down. And everyone knows legs are over-rated. It's not that I'm not a wimp, it's just that I once saw what Remy did to a building he wasn't in the mood for. I used to work in that building. It wasn't that great as offices go, but I have to say I was kind of relieved that he got into a snit with it at three in the morning. At least it was more or less empty. Gulp.

On the other hand, fille. Excuse me. My eyes narrowed. That would be femme thank you so very much. I didn't just slip back in time ten years and he's got no right to treat me like a little kid. We're in a school for Christ's sake, patronise a sprog.

Plus, now I come to think of it, he has no right to be pissy with me. _I_ didn't make him sleep with Lizzy Majors. That was down to him. And so what if I did email the photos round the office, I was _bored_. And anyway I've helped him plenty in my time. I put more typos into the reports on his whereabouts than he deserves. I could have turned him in a dozen times and I didn't. How's that for gratitude. Fille. I mean I ask you. He owes me, big time, and just because he doesn't know that doesn't give him the right to patronise me. So there.

Oh good, I'll guess I'll try and hide behind blind rage. That'll work.

"Sod off boyo, so what if I am?" I said. Being suicidal apparently brings out the Welsh in me. Can't imagine why. And before you say anything I know it's not a top-line witty riposte but hey, what do you want. I'm in brain freeze. He glared at me for a second and then sighed.

"You didn' think it was a good idea to learn to drive the car before you stole it?" he asked.

Oh shit. I thought. "Oh shit," I said. This is horrifying. Do ALL my brothers want me killed? "I never told him nuffing. You can't be telling me Mick's making me part of this whole grudge war thing?" He can't be. I've spoken to this guy like _twice_ in my life. And now I'm _dead._ Brothers, who'd have them? Maybe Dannydoesn't want me dead. He's a Buddhist. He's all against killing. Maybe I should call him and check he's still enlightened. AndactuallyI'm pretty sure Martin only wants me dead in that general little-sisters-are-piss-irritating-so,-if-you're-offering,-sure,-you-can-assassinate-her kind of way. And he feels like that about all of us so I'm hardly about to take it personally. But this is beside the point. I'm going to get blown UP! Poor me.While I;m thinking all this and my eyes are darting back and forth to the window _he_ is standing there just looking faintly amused.

"Little sister's make great pawns," he said dismissively.

Pawn. Fille. What is this guy, stupid? Does he want me to kick him? I could be minted if I could turn this guy in. Might not endear me to the interview panel, but I wouldn't need a job for months after. While I was all busy considering this he subsided onto a sofa and shook a cigarette out of a packet, which appeared out of thin air. I can't see Mr Summers being impressed by that. He stuck his clodhoppered feet onto the coffee table. I can't see Mr Summers being impressed by that, either.

Oh MAN I want a cigarette.

And while we're smoking maybe I can trick him into knocking himself unconscious and tying himself up in a sack so I can turn him in. I'll pawn you LeBeau. Nobody laughs at Mick Jacobsons sister and gets away with it.


	14. In which we are presented with a fateful...

"Ah, Ms Jacobson, Ororo told me I'd find you in here."

It's Mr Summer again, I'm saved. Happy sigh. He looks over at Remy and you can feel his eyes zeroing in on the feet and the cigarette even though he's still wearing the sunglasses. Actually, now I'm noticing, so is Remy. But with him I know why. Red on black eyes have a tendency to freak people out. Plus he probably thinks it looks cool.Mr Summers it a little more difficult to fathom. Sunglasses. Indoors.Maybe he thinks he looks cool too, but he doesn't strike me as thatdaft.

"Yes, I'm just doing some research for the essays," I returned all chipper. "I saw Ms Munroe come in but I didn't have a chance to say hello before she left again." I can't help but notice that Remy has taken his feet off the table, although he is still smoking and looking irritable.

He smiles back, "Great, well, the Professor is back also and he's hoping to be able to meet with you before the staff meeting to discuss your appointment, so if you're not to busy…"

"Of course, that would be wonderful." Honestly, polite conversations can occur entirely on auto-pilot and you don't even have to engage your brain. It's almost frightening. Remy is making little disparaging noises into his cigarette and my longing to strangle him is re-igniting. I wonder if he'll be attending the meeting about my appointment. I wonder if that means I'm screwed or not…

Mr Summers fixes him with an invisible stare. "He'll want to see you next." Remy pulls a face that reminds me of a kid I used to teach. She used to shout "I don't care, I'm not listening," a lot in maths lessons. The expression worries me as much on his face as it did on hers. I hate when people are miserable. It makes me want to hug them and that's often somewhat suicidal.

I follow Mr Summers out into the hall and down corridors feeling bad for Lebeau. I'm even considering forgiving the whole fille thing. I mean, he was probably overwought, right.I know I would be if Ms Munroe started on me. Boy am I glad she wasn't in the lesson this morning. I reckon she would have hit the roof when I was up there lying away. She probably would have stepped forward and taken over entirely. Man that would have been funny. Embarrassing as hell but funny.

Have you ever noticed the way your mind wanders into tiny little thoughts when you're nervous. It's damn irritating. If I had an ounce of sense I'd be thinking out a strategy for getting this Professor guy to like me. Unlucky for me, sense was left out of my genetic make-up. Too late now though becausewe're here. It's an impressive looking door in dark wood. Behind this door lurks the inestimable Professor Charles Ex-Ay-Vee-Er. If I can get through this without saying anything stupid I just might have a chance at this job. I just have to avoid saying his name…


	15. Introducing Zaveeay

Summers knocked discretely on the door and then pushed it open without waiting for a reply. This doesn't happen in the lower part of the school system. There everybody always waits for a reply before going in. Occasionally the younger kids knock so quietly and wait so long a puddle forms. Knocking and entering is no longer natural to me.

"Ms Jacobson," Summers said beaming. The inestimable EX-ay-vee-er was as old as the hills and bald as a coot and as the phrase popped into my head I couldn't help smirking so I looked at the carpet. My face is altogether too easy to read sometimes and I didn't really want the man to read those thoughts. It wasn't meant nastily, it's just sometimes my brain run away with me.

"Ah, it's very good to meet you at last," said the coot. "Charles Xavier, very pleased to meet you." I tripped on the edge of the rug, landed badly on my foot and used my great-aunt Iris's favourite swearword before I could stop myself.

"Oh Buggeration take it!" I bit the insides of my cheeks, which I do when I'm nervous or in pain. It causes my face look like a skull but a habit is a habit. I stared at the carpet feeling like a klutz and an idiot. You DON'T swear in an interview, but to swear and then stand struck dumb is worse. Great bloody start Mands.

Once I had unclamped my teeth I did the old self-deprecating and amused 'caught me' smile. "Sorry," I said. "I wasn't expecting a Brit. Kinda threw me off balance." Turns out the guys name is Za-vee-ay and it's the freaks at this school who can't say it, not the man himself. I'd be relieved if it hadn't stunned me like that.

He smiled and rolled out from behind an impressive desk to shake my hand. He was in a wheelchair. I made an effort not to raise an eyebrow quizzically and shook his hand instead. "Charmed," I said and sat in the chair he was gesturing towards.

Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.


	16. Introducing Jean Gray

"I would like to take this opportunity to introduce Dr Jean Gray," Xavier says gesturing to yet another beautiful woman who seems to be trying to make herself inconspicuous in the corner of the room. Difficult with red hair, but good on her for trying.

I wave and say hi and she smiles in a way that I'm sure is meant to be reassuring but actually comes across as shy. How cute is that. Bet all the guys fall for her – and that she's a hopeless teacher. Can't teach shyly.

Something of this must have showed on my face because she's starting to blush.

"Dr Gray is responsible for leading the research work that is carried out at the facility. She takes small groups for focussed practical activities but does not actually teach," the Professor says smoothly and I wonder if I spoke my thoughts by mistake. There is a knock at the door and Ororo Munroe comes in. She stalks (still stalking, I think she needs a time out or maybe a cool shower) in and leans over Xavier whispering. Jean is looking at the carpet with a smile quirking the corner of her mouth.

"You won't mind if Ororo joins us," Xavier tells me.

"Okay," I won't, apparently. She sits down looking terribly relaxed next to Jean. I give Jean a reassuring smile and wonder if she's at all related to Hank.

"Good, I'd like first of all to ask you about your relationship with Eric Lensherr, also known as Magneto."

"We don't have one," I reply hastily. I suspect he wasn't thinking of that kind of relationship Mands.

"But I understand he was in your room last night."

"Oh yuck," I say before thinking. Maybe he was, after all. "Uh, I mean, he used to teach me German, and he was chatting about something to do with wanting my help…" I trail off. Leave it. Quit asking. I don't want to talk about it. "I'm NOT sleeping with him," I think loudly.

"I understand that your twin brother is affiliated with his group, the so called 'Brotherhood of Mutants'," Xavier says neutrally.

"Yeah, but he's harmless," I say. With Ollie's mutation he doesn't have the option of being harmful.

"And that your older brother is an MI6 Field Agent specialising in mutant affairs."

"That's Mick," I can be neutral too.

"And that you yourself were employed in this department for some time."

"Technically, technically, yes, I suppose that's true." There is a buzzing noise in my ears, how much do they know?

"And you were at school in Bristol at a time coinciding with a youngmutant named Remy LeBeau."

"Whoa," I say. Jean is leaning forward. "Where you ge'in' diss stuff," I'm in de Thames. I'm DROWNIN'!

"Who was also affiliated with the 'Brotherhood'." You can hear the inverted commas.

I pause for a long moment to assess my position. I'm a teacher. I'm trained. I'm good at it. I worked as a secretary for the MI's. I dabbled in field work very occasionally. Obviously I know a little about the brotherhood. Yes my brother is involved in a very low-key way. Yes Mick is an Agent. How much does that influence me? Is he going to ask about Dannys pub next? Wait a second, did he say _was._

"Was?" I ask.

"He is no longer connected with the group." I grin. No longer connected. Maybe he's no longer a psychopath either. Maybe there's some hope for him. Maybe. Oh shit my teeth are showing.

"Seriously?" I ask. He inclines his head. I could dance. La la laaaa. I laugh. I can't help it. "No longer connected," I say, unwisely mimicking his voice. "He's out. That's great. Wow. That's so cool…" I'm babbling. SHUT UP AMANDA! But if HE is out OLLIE can get out. Maybe he'll GET Ollie out. Maybe...

Ororo is staring at me, Jean is looking like she is about to start laughing and Xavier is looking somewhat taken aback. Relief is coming off me in waves though. And I've got "I feel pretty…" that annoying song from Westside story, a song that my brothers and I used to shriek at each other in moment of high excitement, running on a loop in the back of my head.

"I feel pretty and witty and gay, duddle duddle dum," mutters Jean almost as if she just thought of it. That makes me stop in a rush. It' was in MY head, what's it doing in _hers?_


	17. In which we meet snooty lady muck

Mick once told me, in the middle of one of the more bloody of our stand up rows, that I should give up on the idea that I was stupid. He had, at the time, just filled in an application form for me to quit working for the MIs and go to university. Anyway, you should bear in mind the fact that I might not be stupid when I tell you that I had just figured out that Jean the red head was probably some kind of psychic. Actually, maybe that doesn't show too much intelligence. That should probably have occurred to me anyway. Either way, the realisation was important, since it means hiding things from these people is gonna be just that bit more difficult.

"Okay," I said, "cards on table, you want my history, it's yours."

Xavier smiles. "Forgive me for being blunt, Amanda, the purpose of those questions was not so much to discern your history as to make it clear to you that we already have it."

"I always liked blunt sir, and you should forgive me for being insufficiently circumspect. I should have said; if you would like further clarification about any aspect of my prior history you are welcome to ask." Smile.

"Very good," the smile was returned. I think I like this coot, he has a sense of humour.

"So what do you think you know about Remy?" I won't say that Ms Munroe spat this question at me, but she could have been more polite. _I _was in the middle of a pleasant chat with her boss after all. _We _were getting on famously.

Turn. Look. Haughty and imperious. And suddenly very conscious of my nose, probably because I'm looking down it.

"We went to the same school for six months. We spoke to each other twice, once when I stole his beer at a party and once when he wanted someone to help him steal a car." I risked a glance at Jean who looked embarrassed, I raised my eyebrows to show this wasn't about her and shouldn't be taken seriously. Why I was trying to reassure the woman was beyond me but she had something fragile about her that made you want to hide ugly behaviour.

Munroe just looked annoyed. Like she wanted to fry me in oil. Not much fragility there.

"LeBeau had somewhat greater contact with my brother, in whose year he was. In fact, he stole my brother's girlfriend. Understandably therefore they didn't get on. I confess; Mick wasn't exactly upset when LeBeau showed up on the Brotherhood files. What else do I know?" I asked the room in general, puckering my brow in thought. The Professors face was a blank slate. What is he thinking? Am I going too far?

"Hmm, well clearly the man's a regular Lothario." I raised an eyebrow at Munroe. The eyebrow said 'conquest?' and was impolite, out of character, and almost certainly too far. I lowered it again and went back to my studious thinking. "Two years ago he pulled Mick's fiancée and got her to defect, further endearing himself to Department. Still, if he's no longer affiliated with the Brotherhood Mick'll leave him in peace. That's in the nature of his job." I am Amanda Jacobson. All-comers posh git champion of the world. Superior smile.

"Are you trying to tell me what happened yesterday was just about the Brotherhood, not about mutant hating?"

Oh man. I hate when people diss the Deparment. "I have no idea what happened yesterday, sweetheart, but if the Department was involved it wasn't about mutant bashing." Stop there. Otherwise you'll end up shouting. Xavier's eyebrows are up at the outburst. Shit.

"She really is glad he's out," Jean murmurs to Munroe and I get back into snooty lady muck mode. I show a tiny hint of a sneer to Munroe. See. Nothing to hide.

"And you think you can handle working in an all-mutant environment? Think you can deal with being in the minority for once?" Pissy.

Smile. Your on camera. "Yes."

"You think you can cope with the kind of anger these kids have the right to feel towards you?"

"How am I doing with yours?" I look back round to the Prof giving it the wide eyed imperceptible facial shrug that only a posh Brit would see and understand. Here's hoping he doesn't regret inviting me for interview.


	18. What's going on in there?

"Very well," Professor Xavier interjected as Ms Munroe's eyebrows drew together in a stormy expression. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea what her mutation was. It was conceivable she could make my head explode by glaring at me. I confess to vague feelings of unease at that point, but I didn't really think she would do it in front of the Professor, that would be unprofessional."I understand from your referees that you have some rather creative teaching ideas."

And from then on the interview was somewhat more standard and a lot more polite. Less about my family connections and more about methods of teaching, behaviour management, assessment strategies and planning. Yawn. The interview ended with another handshake and I was ushered out, into the corridor and Mr Summers capable hands. He lead me to what looked like a conference room to wait and I watched as the rest of the staff passed the door in dribs and drabs heading for the Professors study.

The only thing to do in situations like this is switch off entirely and try and convince yourself you don't care. However since this is impossible I ran through everything that had happened since I arrived. This lead to the unhappy conclusion of putting my head in my hands and groaning. The first I knew that Remy was going past was an unpleasant laugh from the doorway.

"Tell me they en't listenin' to you?" I saidmostly to give vent to my uncharitable feelings.

"Remy knows yo history fille, dey gonna want his opinion," I swear to Christ he smirked. That I didn't bite him is a miracle.He gave mea happy little wave and headed on past. This lead to me throwing my head back and groaning again. Only an idiot would hire me.

I had just brought my head forward and was staring in front of me with a kind of bleak despair when Rohgue and Man-boy came past. I called out a 'Hey' in order to distract myself. Man-boy looked a little unfriendly but Rohgue came into the doorway with the open friendly grin that I was becoming used to.

"Hah."

"You after the Professor I think he's in a meeting," I told them.

"Yeyeh, we know" she returned. "Bobby ahnd Ah ure counssill reyps. Prohfessssor Ehx lahkes urs to haeve a sahy in may-jor decisions."

This translated itself in my mind into: "Man-boy could be the person standing between me and this job." Bugger. "That's great," I told them giving it the big false teacher smile. "I'd best not keep you, put in a good word for us, eh?" She smiled back. Man-boy looked unimpressed. They both hurried off. I indulged myself in another groan with my head in my hands. It didn't help.

"That isn't productive," I told myself out loud. "PMA." This was one of the only things I remembered about my mother. She hated the phrase Positive Mental Attitude. With the cruelty of children everywhere, my brothers and I had used it all the time. Maybe that was why she left.

I jumped up and strode aroundthe room. It wasn't enough. I had enough nervous energy going on to power Singapore. In situations like this I wish I could tap-dance. I'm sure it would be cathartic. In lieu of this I paced the room and kicked the walls muttering variations on the theme; "What's going on in there?"

It was ten minutes before I noticed the scuff marks I was producing on the walls.


	19. What IS going on in there

After the candidate left Professor Xavier looked round at the two remaining women noting the expressions on their respective faces. Storm still looked irritable. Jean wore a puzzled frown. He waited to see who would respond first to the silence.

"I'm not sure she's entirely trustworthy," said Jean after the pause had stretched long enough for the room to become private again.

"I'm entirely sure she's _not_ trustworthy," Storm glowered. Xavier smiled to himself but focussed his attention on Jean.

"Go on, Jean."

"Well," said Jean, as if feeling out an idea as she spoke it, "she's easy to read. But it's like it's too easy. Like she's giving you her thoughts on a plate. So I just wonder, what's really going on…"

The door opened and Scott came in. "So what did you guys think of her then?" he asked, obviously cheerful. He met Storm's irritated glance and smiled dazzlingly. "Hmm, okay, so she's still failing to impress you, 'Ro, what about the rest of you."

"I think she has a crush on you," said Jean repressively. Scott tugged his collar slightly and smirked in the way Jean had always found infuriatingly sexy.

"Can't fault her taste then," he said. Smug.

A sudden **BAMF** and a sharp smell of matches made the three younger teachers start and turn sharply. The Professor merely raised an eyebrow in greeting. "So glad you could join us Kurt."

"Ja no problem," said Kurt Wagner bowing slightly to the Professor. Then his eyes slid over to his own crush, gauging her mood.

"You startled us," she said accusingly.

"Apologies, Fraulien,"

Jean and Scott exchanged a long-suffering look. When were these two going to just get it together?

The Professor coughed discretely reminding everyone that they are in his study for a purpose, not a coffee break. "I agree with you Jean. It's rare to find someone who broadcasts their thoughts more clearly, which may be a useful learning tools for some of our pupils. However I confess there certainly seemed to be a fair amount of subconscious misdirection taking place. This is not entirely surprising, of course, looking at her past history, Ms Jacobson clearly has a great deal about which she may feel uncomfortable sharing. The question is whether she is attempting to hide anything potentially harmful."

"The question is; should we hire someone, who is potentially dishonest, and has a clearly dubious past?" interjected Storm showing the room she could be just as posh as the candidate, thank you very much.

"She's a good teacher," Scott said apropos of nothing.

"I don't doubt that," said Jean. "But we're talking about someone coming into our sanctuary. I'm just not sure… I mean if we can't entirely trust her is it sensible to expose ourselves?

"And I doubt the teaching." Storm stated bluntly. "I saw the footage. Did Jubilee learn anything at all in that lesson? Except possibly that it's okay to tell lie. And what about Bobby? She embarrassed him. What right does she have. She doesn't know the kids and she comes into a new school and messes with their egos. That is not the behaviour of a responsible teacher…"

"Oh come on Storm, that was a control strategy and it worked pretty well for her," retorted Scott. "They're a tough class, everyone knows that, and they didn't riot."

"But she didn't follow my planning, either. That was NOT what I intended for that lesson. If she's going to be covering classes she needs to know how to follow a plan."

Scott didn't have a reply for that one. He noticed Jean looking down at her hands trying to hide her smile from him. She'd been nagging him to tidy his study ever since he got the deputy head job. He told himself the flush in his cheeks was annoyance and tried to ignore it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, it was at this point that the door opened and Hank walked in followed by Logan.


	20. In which there is a stiff breeze

"What's up with One Eye?" Logan said to Jean. "Stick up his butt giving him constipation?"

That Scott was rolling his eyes at this remark was only hinted at by the brief flash of eyebrows appearing over the top of his ruby quartz sunglasses.

"We were discussing the hiring of Amanda Jacobson," he explained slowly and clearly. "You met her yesterday at dinner and hopefully had an opportunity to review the lesson she taught this morning, to help you form an opinion."

"I don't bother with all that crap," Logan smirked. "I got this little thing called an instinct. Says your Ms Jacobson ain't the most popular lady in this room." His eyes slid up Jean's legs. It was very clear to everyone whom he considered to be the most popular lady in the room.

"Ja, ja," Wagner put in, apparently oblivious to the stony set of Scott Summers's jaw. "Ve vatched the tape of the lesson together, Logan. You remember, you vanted to know vhere the Uzbek Empire vas 'vhen it vas at home'."

Logan let out a snarl and Scott laughed. "I also had the opportunity to watch the lesson," said Hank trying to avert any bloodshed on the Professors expensive carpet. "I thought that in the circumstances Ms Jacobson did very well." He looked round anxiously.

"I also liked it," said Kurt. "It looked like fun for the children."

"It was hardly high quality learning," Storm stated. "She sent them off to find out which of their so called facts were based on reality and which were imaginary. And I'm fairly convinced that she didn't know which were which herself."

"But Storm, you must admit that there was a lot of potential in the lesson. A sound basis on which to build the topic area," said Hank fussily.

"And as I said to Scott before you got here, it wasnot in the direction I intend to go. If she can't follow a lesson plan how can we hire her? She will be covering classes and throwing them into turmoil because she doesn't follow planning."

"Scott?" prompted the Professor with an air of tranquility and perhaps just a hint of steel.

"Um, well, she didn't exactly have your plans to follow…" Scott confessed feeling himself reddening for the second time in five minutes. Logan laughed out loud. Hank and Jean's eyes met nervously over Storm's head and Storms eyes turned grey.

"What?" she said.

"You see I couldn't instantly put my hands on your plans this morning," Scott winced. The papers on the Professors desks fluttered in a sudden breeze.

"If you are going to be the deputy head in an establishment like this," Storm said loudly as Logan chuckled and Wagner shifted nervously from foot to foot ready to vanish, "don't you think you should invest in a filing cabinet?" The wind increased in intensity. Scott's hand went to his glasses, fearful they should not be dislodged.

"Thank you Storm, that will do," said the Professor calmly. The wind that was whipping Hanks fur into a tangled mass subsided slightly. "I think that that should allay your fears about Ms Jacobson's ability to follow a plan."

"Indeed," said Storm through gritted teeth.


	21. In which the brotherhood resurfaces

The door opened again and Gambit entered the room looking pleased with himself. At the obviously uncomfortable atmosphere, and refreshing breeze, he laughed out loud. "Looks like Remy just missed some fun," he said to the room at large. Everybody ignored him.

"Hmm, guess Remy still be in de dog 'ouse den," he said turning his best charming smile on the room. He gave an expressive shrug and collapsed onto the sofa between the two women, arms spread wide running along the back of the sofa. Storm continued to look irritated, Jean mortified.

The addition of another serious masculine presence in the room obviously got to both Scott and Logan. Logan moved to a leather armchair and sat down looking mightily relaxed, except if you paid attention to the sinews in his neck. Scott went and perched on the arm of the sofa, hand gently caressing Jean's neck. Gambit gave a 'My work here is done,' smile round the room and pulled out a battered cigarette packet. A look from the Professor stopped him from lighting one. Just in case anyone was in any doubt as to who was Alpha 1 in this outfit.

"We have just received intelligence from Ms Jacobson that had British Military Intelligence been aware that your membership of the Brotherhood of Mutants had lapsed they would not be pursuing you," he said in a soft calm voice that wasn't at all reassuring.

"Don' believe it, dere'e no way Mick's gonna leave Remy alone."

"We were given to understand that he wouldn't have a choice. Although from what Ms Jacobson said I could quite understand his reluctance," continued the Professor.

"Why haven't you confronted them and explained?" demanded Storm. "You put more than your own life in danger yesterday."

"Hey, Remy though' we were a team," he said. "He thought we were looking out for each other. Like he looked out for little Stormy."

"I was a kid," Storm said with narrowed eyes. "_You_ are supposed to be an adult and you ought to think about people besides yourself." She turned and looked at the Professor. "Since we're discussing staffing issues I think we should talk about _his_ continued employment."

Gambit turned a jeering look on her but almost everyone else in the room looked like they agreed with Storm. Realising this he took off his sunglasses and leaned forward looking serious. "Look, I don' believe dat de Department's are gonna stop chasin' Remy. He blew up dere headquarters when he was with de brotherhood. If dey got any evidence dey'd be stupid to stop."

"Is it possible that they don't have evidence?" asked Scott.

"Remy don' know," he said. "Remy's pretty good."

"So it is possible, in which case they would have no reason to continue pursuing you. And that is information to which Ms Jacobson could well have access…" said Scott, explaining the situation logically to let the pupil work out the solution. Patronising.

Gambit shrugged looking irritable. "Fine. Remy'll talk to da fille."

"Fine then. We were discussing Ms Jacobson's teaching methods," Scott said.

"Ve liked the lesson," said Wagner eagerly. "But Ororo has some concerns about vhether Ms Jacobson is trustvorthy."

"'Ro's not the only one," growled Logan. "She ain't a mutant, what reason do we have to trust her?"

"You think because she is affiliated with Service she could be a problem?" asked Remy.

"Well you have to admit it's a possibility," said Hank.

"No. If you have a problem it's going to be wid de brotherhood. Her favourite brother is a member. Dat gives Magneto leverage. He's good wi' levers. An'" Remy sat back now, hands behind his head looking mightily relaxed, "Remy did some checkin' wi' Kitty. Dat stuff she quoted from the web. It's all dere, do a google search and one of de first tings dat pops up is dat Uzbek Empire crap. But it wasn' dere diss mornin' Kitty an' me did a little research and guess wha'? It was posted from an account registered to a pub in North Wales. A pub whose landlord is one Danny McFarlande, step-brother to Ollie, Amanda, Mick and Martin Jacobson. " He cocked his head on one side looking satisfied. "Ollie lives dere and it's Remy's guess dat de fille rang him dis mornin' to discuss her little visit from Magneto las' night."

"I thought I told you to stay in the staff room until you were called," said Storm. "I thought I said I didn't want the kids seeing you until after you spoke to the Professor."

"Merde."


	22. A controversial decision is made

As the two X-kids left the ante-chamber where the candidate was sitting Rogue poked Bobby in the back. "Y'all'll do thuh tahlkin' rihght?" she said.

"I said I would," replied Bobby risking his life by putting an arm around her waist.

"Ah juhst cain't be-ar thuh look ohn Wag-ners fay-ce whe-un ahm tahlkin'. It may-kes may fe-yul guiltay. He du-sun't un-nerstan' may at ahll."

"Don't worry about it," said Bobby facing the door. "I'll talk. But you knock."

"Naw you knohck."

"No you."

"Naw you."

At this point the door was opened by Hank who gave them a big welcoming smile. "Ah good, the Professor was right."

"Hah," said Rogue and then shoved Bobby in front of her through the door.

"Hi" said Scott. Rogue was busy giving an up from under look to Logan. It could have been shy, could have been flirtatious. Logan did his best to look reassuring. Gambit looked put out. Like if anyone should be getting up from under looks it ought to be him.

"We are discussing the hiring of Ms Jacobson," said Scott for what felt like the nine hundredth time. "You were in her history class this morning. You are here to give us the low down on student opinion. That is to say, not merely your own, but that of the student body as a whole." Bobby stared at Scott, like Duh.

"The lesson was pretty good," he said. "Most people don't have a problem with the idea of her as a teacher…"

"Juh-bah-lee hays evun sahrted her essay. Ahlready," added Rogue. Wagner squinched his eyes shut trying to figure out what she'd said. Hank shot Jean a pained look. She shot a translation into Wagner's head so his eyes blinked open like a light bulb coming on.

"Oh," he said. Everyone laughed at him and he blushed a pretty shade of lilac. Gambit noticed Storm giving Wagner a look that said Aww, and went back to looking put out. If anyone was going to get Aww looks it should be him, right.

"But," continued Bobby, "Kitty told us about her connection with the Brotherhood. A few people are pretty upset about it. I mean if there's the possibility of her passing information to Magneto… Plus she isn't a mutant and I heard a rumour earlier that she's secretly employed by the government." Catching the expression on Hank's face he added defensively. "I didn't say Ibelieved it, I'm just telling you I heard it."

"Hmm, yes I see," said the Professor. "Well, as I understand it we are all now in agreement about Ms Jacobson's ability to teach?" He raised his eyebrows and looked around at the staff. "Perhaps a show of hands?" he suggested. Scott, Hank and Wagner put up enthusiastic hands, Bobby, Jean, Logan and Rogue put theirs up more tentatively. Storm and Gambit looked at each other.

The Professor looked inquiringlyat Storm. "She taught the kids that it's okay to lie," she said. The Professor sighed.

"The very existence of the Institute teaches them that," he replied. "Hank and Wagner's image inducers, Remy's sunglasses, Warren's wing straps, all these things teach the children that, not only is it _okay_to lie, but that it is useful to do so. What Ms Jacobson taught them todaywas not how to lie, but how to use research to catch a liar."

Storm glowered, mostly because she knew she was going to have to admit he had a point. Partly because Scott had made her look like an idiot over the planning thing. "Okay, fine then," she said. "For a trial period. But I want to monitor her planning."

"Good, and Remy, did you have an objection to Ms Jacobson's teaching."

"Wha' about all dat other stuff?" asked Remy.

"Did you have an objection to Ms Jacobson's teaching?" repeated the Professor calmly.

"No, bu'…"

"Well good then. We are in unanimous agreement. Storm, I would you like to be Ms Jacobson's mentor during induction."

"You mean you're gonna to hire her?" growledLogan. "Based on her _teaching_. When we've just heard all this stuff about her c'nnections? When she could betray us fifteen diff'rent ways tomorrow? When all we really know abou' her backgroun' is that it's worth hidin'? Are you crazy bub?"

Everyone stared at the Professor. Waiting.

"Indeed," he said, "should answer the first four of your questions, and in answer to your fifth, rather impertinent question; I should certainly hope I am not."


	23. In which plans are made with glitter

Ah, bliss. I just stepped out of my teacher clothes and am standing in the middle of what, Hank now tells me, will become my room, in my underwear. Fantastic. I hate teacher clothes. Not every teaching job requires you to wear teacher clothes all the time, but if you are going for a job interview you have to wear them. And probably you should wear them for at least a couple of weeks after you start.

Actually, considering the nature of the job I reckon teacher clothes ought to look more like those coveralls mechanics wear than business dress. Have you ever tried using glitter in a class of thirty five year olds? Or even twenty twelve year olds. I have a friend who wanted to teach a lesson using glitter but didn't want to mess up her own classroom. You know what she did? She borrowed a classroom off one of her friends. And trashed the place. This, it seems to me, is a good plan in all essentials except for one tiny detail. Surely you want to trash the classroom of an enemy, right? If I ever teach a glitter lesson in this place I'm doing it in Ms Munroe's classroom. In fact, if she pisses me off too much I'm going to take some kids and have a glitter fight in her classroom. Man boy, John, Circle Line and Rogue. Rogue'll probably have a heart attack but I reckon she needs some experience of creative rule breaking. I'd take some of the others too, but I'm not taking Posh Kitty because she'll probably tell. And then Mr Summers'll fire me and I won't be able to cover my credit card bill.

Jeans and trainers are so much more comfortable than heels and a skirt - although the skirt is great. It has a slit up the side and is damn sexy. Great for interviews. Not so good for teaching. I'm always be scared I'd sit down wrong and show everyone my knickers.

I cross to the window pocketing my mobile on the way past the nightstand. Pushing the window open I lean out, breathing in free air. Obviously I can't revert entirely to being myself. It was made very clear that this position is open on a trial basis but definitely being MORE myself is an option. I look down. There's a kind of flat space outside my window, because the room below me has a bay. It's kind of like a balcony. It's not like I'm doing anything stupid. I mean the thing doesn't even slope. And it's like a metre wide. And the drop is tiny.

Who am I trying to kid. The thing is I love climbing out of windows and finding my way to the ground, or the roof. There's something immensely satisfying about it. I climb up onto the sill and sit with my legs hanging over the window ledge. Then I turn to grip the ledge before swinging myself down. I have to be careful doing this since my left hand doesn't grip to well. I lost the top joint of my middle three fingers in a car accident during my GCSE English exam. It's a miracle I passed that exam at all, and the car accident is entirely the fault of Remy LeBeau. Another candidate for glitter treatment.

The drop was about two and a half metres. Just a little taller than I am with my arms stretched. Hardly any distance, right. I hang myself carefully down from the window and just as I get to the point where my arms are stretching my shoulders I hear a voice.

"Jake. Hey Jake."

It's Mick's voice. "Jake. Hey Jake."

It's coming from my pocket. "Jake. Hey Jake."

I sigh and drop and fish the phone out of my pocket. Ollie gave me the phone last Christmas as a joke. It has all of my brothers voices coded in to yell at me whenever they are trying to ring me.

"Jake. Hey Jake." Damn demanding phone.

"What," I say. Short.

"Well hello there to you to Mandy," says an Irish voice which very definitely does not belong to my brother.

"Hello." The voice is very familiar but I can't place it.

"Now Mandy, did you just climb out of a third storey window at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters there?" OH MAN! I should have known. Hardly anyone calls me Mandy. It's just that it's so damn unexpected. Why would HE be calling me. Why is he here? Stupid question.

"No," I told him and hung up the phone.

"Jake. Hey Jake," Mick calls. Shit. What do I do now?


	24. Which introduces Interpol

Hearing Sean's voice was like being hit between the eyes with a mallet. I'm not kidding. I can keep it together with the best of them. I mean I haven't been having the best couple of days in history, what with psychotic German teachers in the middle of the night and the wicked witch of Planning threatening my livelihood, andI reckon I've been holding it together pretty well. But it's hard holding it together when you hear the voice of someone you know, a mate, coming at you out of the blue. So it'e not surprisingI was feeling shattered, sitting with my back to the wall, staring at my shouting phone. Occasionally it would stop, presumably because the voicemail would kick in, then it would start again. I didn't even have the energy to turn it off.

Plus I wasn't sure I was up to a conversation where we bantered about something we weren't really talking about so as not to expose anyone on an open line. I might not be with the Service any more but that doesn't mean I want to put field operatives in danger. It's not just that I'm tired, though. Sean's a member of Interpol. Given that, and given he's using Mick's mobile to call me, it doesn't take a genius to figure out why he's ringing.So there we are. Stare at the phone.

But what if he decides that if I'm not going to co-operate they should make a move? What if they come in and find out that they are right, Remy LeBeau is inside? What if they find that out and get all bent out of shape over that 'harbouring a fugitive' thing? What if, when they break in, they find out about all the mutants living and working here? What if the cover-up of the mission isn't as good as it should be? What if the public get wind of the mutants living and working here? This is the States, anti-mutant feeling here is even worse than it is at home! And here people actually own guns. Real ones! Anything could happen! And then I'd be out of another job. Plus the kids would have even more reason to hate non-mutants. And I wouldn't blame them. Non-mutants are bastards. I sniffed, poor little Circle Line in her cheery yellow raincoat.

So I answered the phone. "Humph."

"Did you know that with these new high power binoculars of mine I can actually lip read your lying from here Mandy?" Again with the Irish lilt.

"Quit stalkin' me you freak," I told him a little hysterically, "and I ain't lyin' in the States it's called the fourth floor."

"Ah well, so, that's alright then," he said and I could hear amusement in his voice. "I know you've gota special dispensation for misdirection."

I don't mind him being amused by me on the whole. Like I said, we're mates, but I don't see that he's got the right to be all high and mighty about me trying to mislead him. He spends his life misleading people. Since I was feeling particularly mature and in control I stuck my tongue out and made a face. "Can you see that you fecking eejit?" I asked using my worst Irish accent. He hates when people do Irish accents at him.

"That's lovely, that is," he said happily, "I always had a particular liking for your tongue." I put my tongue away fast. We had a brief and ill advised affair a few years back.Since I finished it he reserves the right to make remarks like. Since I value his friendship I tend not to respond with comments about his dick looking like a pencil.

"Yeh dirty bugger, I'll get my brother on you if you talk to me like that," I said.

"Funny you should mention your brother, he's sitting right next to me now. Would you like a word?" I felt myself pale. If Mick's sitting next to Sean then he's probably so vexed you could fry eggs on his head.

"Since we won't be in town long we wondered if you would meet us for a drink, like," he continued pressing his advantage.

"Ditch the boss," I purred in my best seductress voice, "and maybe we can make an arrangement." Okay, so it was low, but I didn't want to see Mick. It's not like I'm scared of him, it's just that I have a healthy respect of him. Like I have a healthy respect of Ms Munroe, car crashes, nail barsor the dreaded eyelash viper.

"I'll text you the details so," he said. Then he hung up. No response to the purr. Nothing. Humph.

And now I have to work out a way to get back inside without looking like an idiot because if I do something stupid I'll never hear the end of it. I stuck two fingers up at the pair of them and peered over the edge of the gently sloping roof. Maybe going down would be better.


	25. In which there are ruminations on PE

Peering over the edge of the roof it seemed like a hell of a long way down. I knew I could pull myself back up into my room if I needed to, but frankly I was tired and knowing I'm being watched has a tendency to make me clumsy. Iinstead Idecided to try peering over the other side of the roof, to see if it looked less far on that side. I came face to face with a red head blue guy. I swear it was the shock that caused me to use my best talking to five year olds voice.

"Well hell-oh," I said giving a bright patronising smile. "What are you doing here?" To be fair to me I wasn't entirely sure whether this guy was staff or student, but that still doesn't excuse the talking to five year olds voice. If it had been me I would have looked at me like I was a fruitcake. This guy gave me a smile. I gathered from the smile that he was either trailer trash or a non-US citizen. No-one with money in the States has teeth like that.

"Ms Jacobson," he said. "I'm zo pleased to meet you." He stuck out a hand as he more or less walked over the edge of the roof. The guy must have special skills for climbing because if I tried that I'd smash me head open. I shook his hand politely, still giving my best patronising smile.His hand had only three fingers, I know I'm hardly one to pass remarks about mutilated hands but his seemed to have been designed that way. Different. His blue face was etched with darker blue scar lines that crinkled with his smile. I would probably have backed away if there hadn't been a fifty foot drop behind me. Some of those scars looked new.

"Me too," I beamed idiotically. "And you are?"

"Kurt Vagner, I am also a new teacher here. I will be taking a German class this semester as well as tutoring in math, music and of course Fizz Ed."

Math-SSSS I wanted to say, but I restrained myself. "Fizz Ed?" I asked instead. Presumably it was some kind of training in drinking that nasty fizzy beer they have over here.

"Fizikal Education," he explained. "All staff are expected to participate four dayz a veek. Given you are here I vill expect zat you are interested more in the gymnastic?"

I'd been kind of blocking this one out. I hate PE, it's so damn regimented. Take swimming laps in a pool for example. What's that about? I'm in a pool I'll bounce up and down, turn somersaults, duck dive to the bottom and day dream about being some kind of aquatic creature. That's why I like going in pools. I can spend an hour pretending to be a duck. Or a turtle. Or even a jellyfish. I don't want to swim up and down for the sake of my soul. Jellyfish don't do laps. They are well known for it. Similarly, if I'm going to ride a bike I want to coast down hills with my feet on the handle bars and occasionally fall off into a bush. I have no interest in sitting on a stationary bike and to see how far I can get today, and then come back the next day and _try and beat it!_ I don't want to know how far I travelled to get nowhere and how fast I went there. And if I'm going to play football, I'll be honest, when I play football I want to hack people in the shins and then claim they fouled me. All the while humming the tune from 'Match of the Day'. The whole idea of dribbling round cones and doing keepy-ups brings me over all sleepy.

"Ah," I said. "Mm."

"I wanted to say congratulations on gettink the job," he told me.

"Thanks," I said.

"I thought your lesson was really fun."

My blood ran cold in my veins. "You were watching?" I asked. "How were you watching?"

"Zere are webcams in all ze classrooms," he said. "You did not know this?" It must have been the dinner plate eyes that gave it away. I took a step backwards in shock and sat down heavily. Or rather didn't, because there was nothing behind me on which to sit.

"Oh," I said quietly as I toppled off the roof.


	26. Which contains stress induced swearing

Falling from a great height is one of those feelings that once experienced is never forgotten. There is a moment when you are falling almost in slow motion but then the acceleration kicks in at 9.98 metres per second per second and pretty soon your slamming into the ground at a truly terrifying pace. Actually, on the whole I like the sensation of falling, I love to dive off the high board with the feel of the air whipping past faster with every second. Trouble is, this time I wasn't falling into water. This time I was gonna die.

There was a sound like a small explosion and a smell of sulphur. Then there was the sensation of arms around me and a moment of darkness and a _very strong_ smell of sulphur. Then light and another small explosion. Then the process repeated itself a couple of times and I landed eight inches off the ground, heavily, on somebody's stomach.

"What the bollocking hell was that?" I gasped, but the person I had landed on didn't look like they were about to reply in a hurry.

"Oh shit."

I looked at him.

I got off of him.

He'd probably just saved my life and it looked like I'd just killed him.

"Oh bollocksing fucking hell," I swore with the fluency of long practise and a stressful situation.

"Fucking sodding damn," I said feeling for breath under his nose. Nothing.

"Don't be dead you tossing wanking arsehole," I said feeling for a pulse now.

Tick.

"Shit," conveying relief.

"Christ," conveying panic.

Tipping the head back and reaching into his mouth to clear the airway. "Come on you bastard…"

Breathe two-three-four… "Come on shithead."

Breathe two-three-four… "Breathe"

Breathe two-three-cough cough.

"Buggering hell," conveying relief again.

"Jesuswept," and maybe the tail end of panic.

"Christ almighty," and perhaps a touch of gratitude.

"Fuck." And after a suitable pause, "How am I supposed to explain that one then?"


	27. Which features a curiousity of toes

When it comes to yelling for help I maintain that teachers have the edge. We not only have the projection, but we are used to being in panic inducing situations. I was certainly giving it my best voice this afternoon. And I was heartily relieved when the weird hair guy I saw at breakfast came haring round the corner at a rate of knots. He was one of those take charge types you get a lot in teaching. I'm not, at least not naturally, so I appreciate the personality type.

He picked up scarface and started carting him off towards the mansion, before I could stop him and say stuff about broken necks and internal haemorrhaging. Hey, I was in shock and anyway who's to say it wasn't the right thing to do in this case. Maybe he knows more about this stuff than I do. Wouldn't be hard.

Anyway, so he's carrying blue boy and I'm bobbing along in his wake. And I'm feeling desperately embarrassed, while at the same time not having a clue what kind of explanation I could offer. "I mean, you see," I imagined myself saying, "he mentioned Fizz Ed and I fell off the roof." It didn't really seem to cut it so I kept it to myself. Plus, after all, what was I doing on the roof in the first place?

"Don't worry about it kid," hairball rumbled at me. "My first week here I accidentally impaled a kid on a three foot blade."

"Jesus," I said eyes wide. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he said, "turned out okay, seein' as she's got this absorbency power and I got the old healin' factor, but still, it was pretty embarrassing."

"I can imagine," I said seriously. I mean, what do you say to a confession like that? Plus I still wasn't sure scarface was going to make it. We walked on in into the building in silence, then, down a load of corridors into a lift and finally, into a white room with the unmistakable and indescribable smell of hospitals - although they don't smell quite so bad in the States as in the UK…

"Got a customer for you bub," fuzz face growled to Dr McCoy.

"Oh my sainted aunt, what happened?" Hank asked.

"Looks to me like a new teacher incident," furbee grumbled, there was either amusement or irritation in the voice. I couldn't hazard a guess as to which.

"Well let's just take a look," Hank said to himself and started puttering around in a doctorly manner. "Oh dear, oh dear, Jean, could you come here please?"

"Um, I sort of fell on him. He might have broken ribs or something. I… um, was, um, well, kinda a bit high up…"

"Fell down stairs onto the elf," growled the lying fuzzle-face. "Let's leave 'em to it, kid."

"Um, I might, just, you know, stay," I said but I was already being towed towards the door by a vice like grip around my bicep. "I really think I should go and see if he's okay," I said. When you almost kill someone it's impolite to just leave. You have to make out like you want to stay. Everyone knows that. In this case I kinda did want to stay, I don't like the idea of almost killingsomeone and then not knowing if they actually died.

"Later," he said, "first you and I are going to have a little chat." He turned and stalked away. I turned in the opposite direction and tried to walk off on him. Like that was ever going to work. Thing is I'm Ms Curiosity and this guy looked like a big ole mystery waiting to be discovered. Like when you're about eight and you realise that your father had two families before this one and he's never mentioned it before. And if he hadn't gone out and got pissed and got into a screaming row with your current step-mum you might never have found out at all. You get curious, you know what I mean.

"I ain't following him," my sensible brain told my feet. "We don't need another father figure messing with us. We're just going to go find that nice Mr Summers and confess our souls. And then maybe he can explain it to the Professor so that we don't lose our job." My feet turned me round and followed Furzel Gummidge down the corridor. I blame my toes. I think I have curious toes.


	28. Featuring chocolate milk

I arrived in a kitchen after a slightly nerve-wracking five minutes where I wasn't sure if I was actually going in the right direction to follow this guy. Turns out I was because he was in the kitchen too, standing in front of a fridge with a beer in his hand. He didn't turn around, just growled at me, "Coke or chocolate milk?" which was a little disconcerting.

"Er, Coke," I said. It being slightly more grown up than chocolate milk. Chocolate milk should only be drunk by adults undercover of darkness when they wake up at three in the morning and find themselves alone in the house. Even then they should deny it and claim to be sleep walking.

Fuzz grunted an acknowledgement and filled a glass with ice, popping the top of a can and placing both in front of me. I stared disconsolately at the ice. What is it with ice in this country. There is now no room for my drink. I poured a millilitre and a half of coke into the can and spilled a little on the counter. My hand was shaking and my eyes were doing the bunny rabbit thing. My face felt grey. I actually felt worse than I had when Dr McCoy turned himself white, and that was pretty frightening. Fuzz shook his head at my incompetence and threw me a cloth. "The elf'll be fine, kid, he's bounced back from worse. Get rid of the mess or Summers'll get a bee up his ass about it."

I nodded, although actually I thought Ms Munroe was more likely to go off about it. Who am I to argue, he knows these people better then I do.

"So you used to work for British Military Intelligence…" fuzz grumbled as I mopped up the spill.

"Oh Man, not this again," I said. I was feeling weak already and then I get the third degree. Good grief.

"And you have a brother in the Brotherhood?"

"And Magneto was in my room last night and Mick and Sean're after Remy," I filled in the remaining blanks and then realised from his expression he hadn't known those bits. Damn. I ran water over the cloth and wrung it out, then hung it over the tap. Shit, what now. Act cool. I walked back over to the stool and sat down across from fuzz. "Didn't know that bit eh?" I asked. "Well, that should convince you of my honesty anyway." Ah ha. Get him with the honesty thing. Look I told you the whole truth. I didn't need to, but I'm a good person so I did. Hah. Beat that fuzz face. Try not trusting me now.

The silence was stretching between us as he sipped beer. "Can't say I blame 'em," he muttered eventually. "Take the little prick down a peg or two. Do him good." I stared.

"What?"

"So who are Mick 'n' Sean?" fuzz asked.

"Who the hell are you?" I replied. I mean I've heard of office politics but I've never known it taken to these extremes. I might not like all my colleagues but I don't want Ms Munroe to be arrested and slung in jail for a thousand years. Although…


	29. Presenting the whole truth and some lies

This'll probably sound ridiculous but I just told him everything. I mean, not _everything _everything. Not the stuff about him reminding me of my dad, but all of the stuff that was relevant to this school, my brothers, LeBeau, even Herr Lensherr. I blame the shock, and I was definitely in shock. It was as bad as the time when the police came round to see me when I was in hospital - and on that occasion me and Ollie got taken into care…

Anyway, I told him everything, and instead of running off and reporting on me he agreed to help me meet up with Mick and Sean this evening. I got the text while we were talking. We're meeting at a little place called O'Sullivan's - that must have been Mick's choice, there's no way Sean would go to a faux Irish Pub out of choice. Anyway, that's where we're headed right now. Fuzz turns out to be Logan (to which we will append a Mister, since he's entitled himself to respect in my book) and he's in the driving seat.

"How you gonna get back?" Mister Logan asks. I'm staring out at the road, blank eyed. So tired I can't think any more. When the fuck will today be over. I just want to STOP! I didn't even finish that sodding marking.

I shrug. "Dunno, hitch. Mick'll probably give us a lift if I ask."

"So ask," he says like it's always that simple. I shrug one shoulder this time. I'm shy after all that sharing and I'm feeling more than a little defensive. It's just possible I'm letting a whole bunch of people down, and I'm too exhausted to figure all of this out. And I still have planning to do for tomorrow. Christ. Can I really be arsed with this. I could just go home. I don't even have a contract yet. I could go and work in the pub in Wales and forget all about that stupid idea that was teaching. I should have stuck with washing glasses and baby-sitting. It was more my speed.

I put my fingers to my forehead and sigh. Mister Logan doesn't even glance round. "Put your face on," I think to myself. "Get through this and you can sleep until six-thirty tomorrow. That's practically a lie-in. Get through this and you can have a lie-in."

"Get a lift back," Mister Logan says as I climb out of the car. I give him a big bright fake smile.

"Of course," I say. "No problem." I slam the car door. I suppose it's possible he was fooled. Unlikely, but possible. More likely he either doesn't give a shit or wouldn't know what to do about it even if he did.

"Get it together, Jay," I mutter to myself. "Sean's in there…" That makes me smile again. Sean and Mick in the same place at the same time. Should be, um, interesting.


	30. In which we meet a brother and a hussy

I opened the door to the pub feeling sorry for myself but Sean was the first person I saw inside and I felt my head instantly drop to the ground as my grin of recognition plastered itself over my face. Damn but it's good to see a friendly face. He was lounging in a booth containing a hideous light fixture and he had a very similar stupid grin to my own. I lifted my head and felt the grin spread even wider on my face, saw the same thing happening to his.

"Alright?" a generalised question, me to him.

"Alright?" a slight tipping back of the head as an answer and a more serious question him to me.

"Alright." It never ceases to amaze me that an entire conversation consisting of three repetitions of a single word can contain so much information. He'd been worried about me. How sweet. A hand settled on the back of my neck and I realised Sean had lied. Things were far from alright.

"Hey," I cried, startled, "you lying Irish toad! You told me it was alright!"

"Ah well, Mandy, I suppose it depends on your point of view there," he returned.I grimaced flinchingly and glanced over my shoulder. My worst fears were confirmed. Mick. Large as life. Looking calm. Oh God, save me from the calm look.

"Alright?" I said brightly through my cheery terrified smile.

"Oh I'm just dandy thanks," replied my brother and only someone who knew him wellwould have heard the gritted teeth that he wasn't using. "I was surprised and impressed by your little piece of porch climbing. I rather thought you had given it up." He's livid. He's only ever polite when he's on the verge of murder. "In fact I had no idea you were in the States at all. What happened to our nation's fine capital. I thought you liked your job?"

"Oh I do, I mean I did, I mean…" Hang on a second. I did. I really did. I wouldn't have quit. It was loads of fun. How come I applied for another job. In a country with no decent beer and limited food supplys. And no respect for salt and vinegar crisps. That makes no sense at all.

"Ah look there Micky, ye've made her eyebrows collide, that means she's thinking. Ye'll get no sense out of her now," came the Irish lilt.

"Piss off you," I said and he grinned at me. I really had missed him. Why in hell can't I fall for people like him? Not very bright I guess. "It was too good an opportunity to miss," I stated loftily to Mick. I'll figure out how this opportunity happened later. And while I'm about it I'll figure out what the hell I was thinking quitting my previous job before I even had this one, too. No point worrying about it now, these guys might see what I'm worrying about and tell me how dumb I am.

"Oh Jay-Jay," he was laughing. The bastard was laughing at me. "Poor little Jake. You had no idea did you?" He knows something I don't know and he's going to hold it in front of me until I'm as pissed off as he is.

"I'm getting a beer," I stated my chin jutting forward giving him my I don't care and you can't make me look. He laughed and I shrugged my shoulders and more or less flounced off to the bar.

"I'll help you carry them," said Sean, which was good of him. I could have carried them no problem, but as I came out without my wallet I was going to have little trouble paying for them. I leaned on a bar stool to whisper this information to Sean and he roared with laughter.

"Just lean forward over the bar," he told me, "we'll find out if you can still blag beer like the hussy y'are."


	31. In which there are thoughts on Irishness

"I've never in my life blagged a free drink like a hussy," I retorted hotly.

"Sure, yeh've only stolen them out of the hands of hard working men," he said patting my bum.

"Yeh're lookin' the get yeh fingers broken if yeh goin' on like that," I replied in my best Irish baiting accent. I watched him flinch. Sometimes revenge is so easy. The bar-tender approached. Smiling.

"Hi, what can I get you?" he asked in tones that wouldn't have been out of place in a burger bar.

"Tree of your finest draught beers if ye would be so good," Sean said seriously sending me into a fit of the giggles. I mean how Irish can you get before you become a parody of yourself? "Dat was always the problem wit you," he said to me. "Yeh never had the smallest notion of when not to laugh."

I rolled my eyes. "Men," I remarked to the bartender.

"Could I just see some i.ds," he asked, pointing to a sign that said; "If you are lucky enough to look under 26 you will be asked for i.d." Sean and I looked at each other again and laughed.

"I'm guessing yer i.d. is with yer wallet?" he asked me, "and I'm of the opinion that the wallet's most likely imaginary. Not dat I blame him like. I woudn't serve you a beer on pain of death."

I pulled a face and pulled a passport out of my back pocket. He pulled one out of the inside pocket of his coat and we handed them over. The bar tender came over all smiles. "So you _are_ Irish," he said to Sean. "I thought you must be, you look just like my uncle Eddy. My families Irish-Scottish."

"And I'm guessing you moved over here when you were a wee lad," said Sean. I could feel him bristling.

"Well, no, I've never actually been back to the old country but…" I stopped listening. He'd said the magic words and now Sean was going to go off on one with quiet explanations about the relative age of various countries and continents and how people who hadn't even lived somewhere could hardly claim to belong there. I wandered off to find a loo. When I came back Sean was almost finished.

"Possibly, _possibly_, I'll grant you this, _possibly_ if you're mammy and daddy were both born and brought up in Ireland and had moved over here before they had you, _possibly_ then you might get away with it, but basically speaking I'd say you were no more Irish than Mandy here and I have to tell you there's no such breed as the Irish-Scot." I smiled in a friendly way at the bartender who was looking a little shell-shocked and picked up all three beers from the bar and carried them back over to where Mick was sitting.

"The barman thinks he's Irish," I explained as I put the beers down. Mick nodded in understanding and we both glanced sympathetically towards the bar where Sean was waiting for change and shaking his head in a doleful manner at the stupidity of the world.

No arguments from me.

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Didn't get any reviews at all from the last chapter, if I don't get any from this I'm quitting posting, because I'll have to assume that no bugger is interested. Review. Even if you hate the bloody thing, at least tell me so.


	32. Featuring mistrust galore

"I've just spoken to Dan, told him you're not in London any more," Mickglares at me.

"Aw, Mick," I say using the little sister voice. "Dat ain't fair."

"He'll be worried about you. We're all worried about you." I'm a worry to my brothers. Not one of them understands me in the slightest. Of course what he reallymeans is we're worried you don't have the sense we were born with. Well maybe I don't but if I had the same bloody sense they were all born with then all of their lives would be a lot different. And Ollie's would have been a damn sight shorter. And God knows what god awful boring job Mick'd have.

"Don't see why," I muttered sulkily. "I'm just a bloody teacher. It's not like I'm messing with International politics. I leave that crap to you." Okay it's a lie, but he can't know that so it doesn't matter.

"Your working in a place that is harbouring a known mutant fugitive," he statesas Sean joins us with the beers. "A man who has tried to kill you not once but twice. Who handed over God knows how many secrets, how many agents, to Herr Lensherr…" it worries me. He taught in a school we attended for like a year. He was a German teacher and an idiot, yet in all our minds he remained Herr Lensherr, rather than 'that Magneto freak'. It's really not surprising Ollie turned out the way he did. I take a drink and interrupt him.

"Unlike Ollie." My eyebrows were raised in a challenge. "Stupid bastard." Mick gives me his bored look. That's the equivalent of me thumping someone. It makes you feel terrible, cold. I think thumping someone is kinder. Just another thing I inherited from my dear ol' dad. "Anyway LeBeau never tried to kill me. It was never like that. I nearly died a coupla times, sure, but that not the same as trying to kill someone."

"But he yes a mutant fugitive who's been en-volved in the brotherhood. And we know they're up to something serious. There've been tayms following Magneto's movements pretty closely and we're pretty sure he's in the area trying to raise support, so," Sean broke in.

"He's out of the brotherhood," I stated flatly.

"What makes you say that?" Sean asked.

"Because it's true," I replied. "This guy, the head teacher, he told me." I fixed my eyes on Mick's, "It's true Michael. I know it is."

"Sorry Jay, that's not going to win you any points tonight." He's looking at me over the top ofhis glass of nasty lager. "There's things you don't know, and I'm not inclined to trust your opinions on any of this right now."

"What the fuck?" I'm outraged. My brother and I don't get on. We don't understand each other. But he _knows_ I'm trustworthy. He _knows_ I can read people. And here and now I can see he's telling the truth. He doesn't trust me, he's not going to trust my opinions. And it's not just about Remy shagging his bint. He knows something I don't know and that's why the bastard doesn't trust me. Something about why I'm here, why I quit my job...

"He's thereright, Mandy, we can't rely on yer word jus' now," Sean says and I thump him lightly in the shoulder, just to relieve my feelings. Beer slops into his lap.

"Jaysus Christ, Mandy," he cries and delivers a swift clip round the ear in return. The laughter that follows eases the tension. I still like Sean, if not my bastard brother.

But here's the question; How much am I going to give them. It's a delicate fucking balance. Too much and Mick'll have me in protective custody. Too little and they'll go in after Remy. And while Mick might try and protect Ollie I can't see Sean extending the same courtesy. He's got a big old chip about mutants who hate humanity. Says you can't sympathise if you can properly empathise. Or some such shite.

Ugh, all I wanted tonight was an early night before Fizz Ed tomorrow morning.


	33. Which treats of mindbenders and nons

"Alright so listen," I tell them, knowing I have to if I'm going to get out, "something's happening. Something big. Magneto has been trying to contact me. He got a message through last night saying he wanted my help. He's going to try blackmail of some sort. Said he knew where mum was." I roll my eyes. I'm more than happy with the idea that she's dead. Mick knows it. He also knows that if someone tries emotional blackmail of that kind they won't get far.

"You'd better call Dan," Mick says. Worrying about Oliver now, and I don't blame him. Ollie wants his mum back. So does Mick, if he's honest. He thinks happy thoughts about her. I'm not saying what I think, some people find the words I use offensive. Dan tends to agree with me about her, probably because he was lucky enough never to meet her. He just saw the family fall out of it. I don't want to call Dan, he'll guilt trip me even worse than Mick. I'll have to though.

I glance over and I can see Sean is getting ready to take me in. He doesn't want me involved in his little operation. He wants Magneto though, wants him bad. I need to bait the hook to keep myself out. I want this damn job to be there when all of this is over. If I get arrested by the man from Interpol I'm pretty sure it won't be.

"He didn't give me any more information than that," I say. "But he said he'd be back in touch." I give Mick a meaningful look, telling him that the next contact will be through Ollie and I'm not going to say anything in front of Sean.

"So what ye're sayin' there is that I can't arrest yeh if I want to tap yeh, right Mandy, do you rehlly think that's enough to keep yeh free?" he asks. He really wants to arrest me. Damnit. Why?

"What the hell's going on?" I demand. "I'm offering you a deal. I'm offering you help and you're tossing off about it. Give."

"Your precious head taycher's only an old compatriot of Magnetos," Sean says. "And one of, ef not thay, most powerfully powered mutant mind-bender there es. We didn't get Le Beau down in New Orleans becas of him. And we were ready for it, had him cornered like, and then two of your fellow taychers turn up and turned him loose. So we're not going to share your opinion about Le Beau bein' on the straight and narrow, Mandy. We're more inclined to think the lot of them are in the brotherhood, see?"

"No!" I cry. "If that was true they wouldn't be employing me. I'm not a mutant. They told me the whole point of this appointment was because of all the bad experiences these kids have had with nons. They want to keep there faith alive. So they don' end up as non-haters."

"Mutants don't hate nons," Sean says. "Just like decent nons don't hate mutants. The whole department works on dat principle. If they think these kids could grow up to hate nons then they're whole attitude is wrong."

"Yeah, Sean but the word I decent. _Decent_ nons don't hate mutants, but how many of them are there? Especially here. C'mon Sean, you know how dis works," I return. "Bottom line is this, even if you don't trust me you can't take me in. If you do and you're wrong you send a warning to Lensherr. If you do and you're right you lose any chance of an insider, plus you send a warning to the whole org. And you've got to leave Remy for the same reasons. Plus he ain't worth getting killt over. It's to risky for you to go in there for him. An' 'e's jus' no' worf i'. An'I'll be' money dut datboy won' be allowed aht for a good long while." I smile. Ororo Munroe might not be my cup of tea, but it's a pleasure watching someone treat Remy like the brat that he is.

And this'll all work out fine provided I'm right and these are the good guys. But now there's this little seed of doubt. He's a mind bender. That's why I quit my job. That's how I ended up here. And Magneto was inside the school last night. He wasn't just trying to contact me, he was standing by my fucking bed. What if I'm wrong about this?


	34. In which there in precipitation

Typically, as we leave the so-called pub, the sky is starting to drip. Big fat drops like you get in Wales, not that wimpy misting drizzle that you get in London. Proper rain. All of us look at the sky with foolish smiles. Sean's Irish. Mick and I were happy in Wales. We have a shared appreciation of precipitation. Proper precipitation that is. Precipitation that takes the precipiting part seriously. We walk together over to a car which I'm assuming is theirs – they don't seem like the car thief types. "Will ye have a lift then?" offers Sean opening his door and getting in, winding the window down to look at me.

I give him raised eyebrows. We came to a deal in the pub. I'll explain all of that in a little bit, but basically they said they weren't going to arrest me and lock me up right away. Thing is, I know the service. They'll say stuff like that and then you get in a car with them and the temptation to attach your arm to the door by way of handcuffs becomes utterly overwhelming. Next thing you know 'all deals are off and we're taking you in,' becomes the cliché of the moment.

"Yeah right," I reply. "I'm that sodding forgetful." He gives me a beautiful smile that I'm tempted to either kiss or thump. Neither choice seems like a good idea though,given my older brother is standing behind me glaring. The rain is getting heavier and in a minute I'm going to have to enter a wet tee-shirt competition for modesties sake. It's okay to look like that if you are in a roomful of other people who arelooking the same. That's logic that is. Anyway whatever happens next it's probably best Mick doesn't stick around to witness it. There are definite advantages to being a woman. People are much less likely to notice when you get all horny. However, if you get wet enougheven unobservant people start noticing. Best to get the pair of them out of the car park fast. AsMick walks round the car Sean's beautiful smile rests on… my assets.As soon as Mick is seated next to him he's all business again.

"I'm telling," I whisper, more to myself than him. "You arrest me and I'm gonna tell him everything." The window rolls up and they roll out. Ha! I knew I could still have an effect on him even if he didn't respond to… Yeah okay so my attempt a sexual bribery earlier probably wasn't my highest moment, but still. I knew I still had it. I smirk about the general weakness of men ignoring the bit of me that says I'm behaving like an idiot.

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Speaking of behaving like an idiot... I know this is really short, I've kind of held back the second half of it so I can post it at the weekend. IF I get reviews I will promise to post regularly for the next 5 weeks. It's up to you.


	35. A conversation concerning staffing

Communication via a secure line into the Institute.

Lensherr: Charles.

Xavier: Eric, how nice to hear from you after so long.

Lensherr: I notice you are taking on new staff, Charles. A non-mutant. Is that wise?

Xavier: I have every confidence in Ms Jacobson's impending success as a high school teacher. She comes very highly recommended.

Lensherr: You are, of course aware of her family's connections with Interpol and British Military Intelligence.

Xavier: Naturally,Eric, but typically, you seemhave failedto understand that neither of those organisations have a specifically anti-mutant brief. They take a more measured approach by upholding international law, rather than passing alarmist legislation.

Lensherr: You have so much faith, Charles, I hope you will not find it misplaced. Do you know where your Ms Jacobson is now?

Xavier: Speaking of faith, I couldn't help but notice you were on the premises last night.

Lensherr: And I couldn't help but notice I was allowed to make contact with my target.

Xavier (smiling): I believe my staff should be given the opportunity to handle all such matters as they see fit, although I must say the incident in question did precipitate some discussion among staff members as to her fitness within the school.

Lensherr (gritting his teeth): I could give you some interesting information about her so called fitness as a teacher.

Xavier: As, apparently, could she about you. Understand this, Eric, I may have allowed you to make contact with Ms Jacobson. I will not extend the same courtesy regarding the students. Various members of my staff would have been more than happy to apprehend you last night.

Lensherr: And you stopped them. When will you learn, Charles, you mustseize the moment.

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"So ask," Mr Logan had said about getting a lift. Ha. I start walking home, hoping that my sense of direction is reliable enough to get me there in time for a morning of fizzing. Damn it. Even if I make it through that I'll then have to teach. I won't be able to palm these kids off with silent handwriting practice all morning while I catch a snooze. Sigh. Oh for short dumb children.

Since walking home in the rain isn't fascinating I'll explain the deal I made with the boys from the Min. This is it. They are going to not arrest me right now. They are, however going to set to work on a some serious surveillance instead. This way they can try and figure more closely what's going on in the Institute and what side they are on, the Institute I mean. Oh man my jeans are soaked. They're going to take ages to dry and my legs are going to be all pink and freezing.

As an excuse for this surveillance they are going to get a warrant on me. Aiding and abetting, theft of various types, harbouring of blah di blah, etcetra and so on. That part shouldn't be hard, even if it was all done in defence of the realm or whatever. They always keep plenty of evidence of what their agents do for them. Contingency planning it's called. Aw yuck. You know when you get rain trickling through the roots of your hair and then sort of puddling in your eyebrows. Man I hate that. Ugh.

Anyway, that means if they want to come in and take a closer look at things inside the Institute they've got an in – although I probably won't have a job if they do and that'll be piss irritating. On the other hand I'll be all arrested and stuff and usually they tend to find work for people in jail. Mopping, you know that sort of thing.

It could be worse I suppose. At least it's not cold. But my bra is going to be wrecked. Stupid weather.

Once they are inside the 'Stute they can scoop in LeBeau easy as. And do it without setting off alarm bells with the rest, because everyone knows he's a 'Wanted Man'. Also, though, it means they've got time to look for links to Lensherr which would be a bigger and better catch for them anyway. And to be honest it'd be much more what everyone wants. Hopefully. Because if it isn't what the people at the Institute want then there is a high possibility that I'm buggered in a rather complete manner. And I really hate mopping floors.

And now my knickers are soaked. Lovely. A perfect end to a perfect day.


	36. Which reveals that the fille est fou

Scott Summers walked into the senior common room and looked around him. "Hey does anyone know where Ms Jacobson is?" Logan, who was supervising the room by standing by the window and smoking a cigar, turned, slightly, towards him.

"Drove her down to O'Sullivan's a while back," he growled. Scott stared at him.

"Why?" he asked.

"She looked like she needed a drink," Logan growled in reply. "How's the elf?"

"He's going to be fine," Scott replied. Logan nodded and turned back to the window. "If you see her before I do tell her I need to talk to her." Logan made no response at all. Scott rolled his eyes, a habit he'd never gotten out of since no-one could ever see his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

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"Has Amanda gone out?" asked Jean, having walked into the room about twenty minutes after Scott left it. For her Logan turned entirely away from the window for her he had stubbed out the cigar he'd just started and dropped it into the rain. He leaned back and stared appreciatively at the red head.

"Yep."

"You gave her a ride?" she asked.

"Soul of chivalry," he growled smugly.

"Down to O'Sullivans? And you didn't stay with her? How's she meant to get back?" Jean asked.

"She was meeting someone, didn't want to stick my nose in. She's a grown woman after all," Logan returned calmly, but Jean had already turned around and was heading out of the room. Logan watched her disappear and smirked to himself.

"And you aren't full grown yet, kid, so I better not see that hand where I think I do." This was delivered toRogue, who was sitting on the couch with Bobby.

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"Dat fille gone out drinkin'?" asked Remy LeBeau incredulously, about an hour later. The kids had now been banished to their rooms and he and Logan were drinking whiskey together up on the roof. "She bin in de job thirty seconds and she already nearly kill someone. Den she goes out drinkin'? Dat fille est fou. 'Ro's on de warpath already. Remy tinks she goin' to murder dat fille when she sees her. Squishing her sweetie. Not very bright. She meana be a teacher an' she sure ain' brigh'..."

"I'm sure the Prof knows what he's doing," interrupted Logan with a growl. He wasn't being aggressive. It was just his voice.

"Well he sure as hell ain't sharin'wha' 'es doin'with the rest of us. Remy saw dat Summers tryin' not to explode. 'es goin' to make her life a livin' hell just you wait. Remy can tell."

"He might give the rest of us a break then," Logan returned complacently. He always enjoyed watching Summers simmer. Someone else tugging his rope for a change. It had to be good.

"What she doin' dough?" Remy asked. "She drownin' her sorrows an' you would have stayed and helped her. So who dat fille meetin'? Dat's wha' Remy wants to know."

"What do I look like a fucking shrink?" Logan growled taking his whiskey bottle back off LeBeau. "Don't ask, don't tell, that's my motto. Always has been."

Remy didn't say anything and quietly hoped the whiskey bottle would come back. He had his own damn sorrows to drown.


	37. In which there is a toothpaste factory

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I know I said I liked this kind of rain. And I do. Really. But I like it in very specific circumstances. One of these involves me going for a walk in this weather while carrying an umbrella. Another is when I'm curled up in bed in Danny's attic after I've worked a shift down in the bar and I don't have to get tomorrow morning because it's my day off. And the radiator is on. Another time I like this sort of rain is when I'm in a car being driven somewhere by a good-looking man who is a careful and safe driver. I even like this sort of weather when I'm shopping and I'm waiting for it to stop so I can hurry home. The thing about this sort of rain is it doesn't usually last that long. It's what's called a shower. You can wait it out. It'll stop. In fact the only time showers are bad news is when you are caught in one and you've got a long way to walk. What happens then is that you are going to get soaked so badly that even if it does stop all that will happen is that your thighs get all sore from walking in wet jeans. Denim's a bastard for that when it's wet.

Headlights swung towards me as a car pulls out slightly to avoid splashing me with water. That was nice of them but really wouldn't have made much difference at this point. Then I realise that the car has stopped and the passenger side window has been rolled down. It's the shy psychic red-head from school. "Hi," she says, "kinda wet weather to be taking a stroll."

"I'm British," I say cheerfully. "We revel in this weather. It's practically compulsory."

She laughs as I hurriedly switch my brain onto the doopy doo-doos from the start of 'I'm Singing in the Rain'.

"Logan told me you'd gone out. I thought maybe you were worried about Kurt," she said.

"I wasn't worried," I said with a wide-eyed look that said: Worried. Ha. I was petrified. "I knew he was in good hands." Get a reputation as a bad liar and the world is your oyster. Some people tell you they are bad liars to get this reputation. Personally I always tell people I'm a great liar and then tell a load of really obvious lies. That utterly discombobulates them. They never know whether they are coming or going with you. Dynamite

"He's going to be fine," she told me kindly. "He has a bit of a concussion and a broken breast bone but it's not so serious. He should be up and about in a day or so."

I take a deep breath and let it out very slowly. I smile at the nice lady in obvious relief and then do worried eyebrows. They drip. "That's great. Thanks for telling me."

"Get in and I'll give you a lift back," she says.

"You're alright," I say smiling. I was in a nasty accident a few years back. I don't really like cars. "I'd like to walk. Thanks though."

"You don't want to miss your first week because you've got flu," she smiles. The smile says don't worry I'm a good driver. It's really reassuring and she's trying to be assertive. It's actually cute but I don't want to get in the car with a mind-bender when I'm this tired. The door opens itself and I step back into a puddle. My trainers were wet already, but as it turns out they could have been wetter. And now are.

"I'm telekinetic," she explains shyly. "I actually could make you get in the car."

Ohmigod! Help! I'm a prisoner in a toothpaste factory! "Okay, I'm in. I'm in," I say feigning a fear that I really feel. Sometimes it's difficult to tell where the lies start and the truth stops.

"So, like, did you do that or did I?" I ask. You've probably noticed that sometimes the best I can manage is the stupid question.

"Why a toothpaste factory?" she asks.

"It's a book," I tell her, and then I point out, in case she didn't notice; "I didn't actually say that out loud."

"One of the advantages of being a mind-bender," her grin is like a crocodile. She doesn't seem so shy any more… "You have remarkably loud thoughts, you know."

Damn, shit, piss, bugger, bollocks, shit, sod, arse, I think and she raises her eyebrows. I hope you don't use language like that in front of the kids. The thought pops into my head. I know _I _didn't think that.

Eeek!


	38. In which the sun don't shine

_I don't care if the sun don't shine,_

_I get my lovin' in the evenin' time,_

_When Iye'm wi-ith my baby,_

I'm mentally singing. This seems the safest way to get home without hitting absolute disaster.

_That's when we kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss,_

_And then we kiss some more._

_Don't ask how man-ny times we kiss,_

_At a time like this, hey, who keeps score._

_It's no fun when the sun's around,_

_I get going when the sun comes down,_

_And Iyeyeye'm wi-ith my bay-beee._

Yeah, I know. Shut up. "Look," Ms Grey says through moderately gritted teeth, "I'd find it a whole lot easier to concentrate on driving if you'd stop singing." My mental singing is so awful it'sputting her off herdriving. Wow. That'sactually kind of depressing. I don't even have a good voice in the supposed privacy of my own mind. Sigh.

"Um," I say innocently. "I wasn't singing." She shoots me a look of vague irritation. A teacherly look that says (as we all secretly do) are you being deliberatly dense? Who me?

"You really have the loudest thoughts I've ever come across," she replies. Then she perks up a bit. "It'll be great for training any of the kids who have psychic tendencies."

Argh! As if it wasn't bad enough having adults rooting around in your head. Teenagers. Imagine. My god. No. Impossible. Horrible. Horrifying. Inconceivable. Impracticable. What if I thought a bunch of swear words at them. Or even worse… Porno!

She laughs out loud and almost swerves off the road. I get myself a nice healthy death grip on the dashboard. I really am genuinely terrified of car accidents.

"Sorry," she says. "I actually thought my shields were getting pretty good. I can zone out most of what people think these days, but for some reason you're coming through loud and clear. I hope it doesn't feel like prying."

"That's fine," I say through gritted teeth. I took up the singing because she told me that I'm going to be covering Mr Wagner's lessons while he recovers from his fall. I didn't want to continue thinking the things I was thinking about her depraved and conniving, malignant, amoral, base and corrupt, her destructive, pernicious and criminal, bastard of a sexy fiancé in front of her. Like I can teach German, Maths, Music and Fizz Ed. Jesus. Ms Munroe's going to have me sacked within a week.

_Autumn in New York,_

_Dur du da durr durr du doo dah._ Actually that probably wasn't the best choice, given I don't know the words.

_Autumn in New-ew York_.

"Maybe you should think about learning to drive yourself," she says. Probably in an effort to block out the renewed chorus of dur doo durs.

"I'm," I start, then stop again. Where the hell do you start. "I had an accident when I was a behind the wheel when I was a kid." My twin brother's mutation manifested during our GCSE English exam. It manifested by making him turn into a penguin. Actually looking back on it is pretty damn funny. One minute I'm trying to write an essay entitled 'My Crazy Family' the next thing I know there is a gust of fishy air and my crazy family just got a little bit crazier. Being the logical type he pecked me in the back of the head. I picked him up and ran for the door. Mutant hating isn't so bad back home, but it's bad enough not to make you want to stick around when you're brother's just mutated into a penguin.

Outside I stole a car. I'd never done it before, but I knew how. Why did I know how? Remy LeBeau, that's how. Three months previously I'd been happily walking home and I'd heard, "Hey, Fille, come 'ere and hold dis." Back then and there you didn't argue with Remy LeBeau. I went there and held that, and had a practical lesson in car theft.

The car _I_ stole, however, ended up in the 'Welcome to Bristol' flowerbed on the edge of town. It said ended up saying'Welcome to Mr Swithens's car'. Actually hitting a flowerbed isn't too bad. It was hitting the lamppost first that really did for us.

"It's made me a little nervous of driving," I added, having finished with the mental images of car-crash carnage.

"I'll get Scott to put you in the Drivers Ed course," she said as if entirely unconcerned. "Remy's running it this term."

I was thunderstruck. Literally. Thunder. Thump booom! Barrarroooom! Crash Badumbadaboom! Coroom! BaDoom! BOOM! Through the ringing in my ears I could have sworn I heard her humming 'Autumn in New York' and saw a smirk twitching at her lips.

Guess she heard what I thought about Scott. Mr Summers, I mean.


	39. In which we say mnf

There was a banging on the door and a gruff voice calling "Hey, kid, this is your early morning call. You don't want Summers bleating at the Prof you'd best get your bony ass out of bed."

I made a little wounded animal noise that sounded very much like "mnf", pushed myself up with my hands and fell out of bed. Mr Logan must have heard the thump when I hit the floor and assumed I was getting up because I heard him going away.

I crawled into the bathroom and poked myself in the eyes with my lenses. Much better, now at least I could now see where to crawl to get to myclothes.I made the mammoth trek over to the pile and sat staring at them forlornly for a little bit. They didn't show any inclination to put themselves on for me.

Bastards.

Eventually I admitted defeat anddid it myself. I even tied my shoes. Impressive huh? Now all I had to do was stand up and walk downstairs to wake up children.

I stood up and almost fell down again. Head rush. I put both my hands on my head and looked miserable. Then I realised I was touching my hair.

I needed a hat.

Fast.

Yeah right.

Fast.

I sat down on the bed, sad puppy, and looked around the room. "mnf," I said unhappily. It meant 'I don't think I have a hat'. Then I saw a hair band and all was well with my world again.

Serenity.

I stood up. The head rush came back but I bravelyignored it.

Managed to get my hair into a ponytail.

Meandered downstairs.

"mnf," I said by way of greeting to Dr McCoy.

"Good morning Amanda," he said returning my smile. I reached out and touched his arm. All BIG and _soft_ and comfy. Just like a pillow. What a nice man. I think I'm in love with this nice comfyman. Happy sigh.

"You take the girls' corridors," he explained to me, "And we do the boys'. Just knock on the doors and tell them they have ten minutes. Like this."

He demonstrated. He knocked loudly on a door. I flinched. Nasty pillow made a big noise. Poor me.

Then he said in a big deep voice. "Ten minutes, gentlemen." I flinched again, smiled at him to show there were no hard feelingsand ambled away. No problem…

I wandered into the girls corridor. Munroe and Grey were already knocking on doors like a military team. Knocking, calling turning knocking calling turning. Very impressive. "Start at that end," Munroe told me. I nodded seriously and tried to look friendly. Ms Munroe does not resemble a pillow first thing in the morning. I had tofake friendly.

They continuedknocking away and calling: "Ten minutes, girls, ten minutes," through various doors. I made the effort not to frown at them for making so much noise. After all, they had a job to do. They weren't just doing it to irritate me.

Best show willing, I thought. I rapped on a door at the other end of the corridor. Then I frowned at myself for having made so much noise so early in the day. Tut-tut. You should know better, I told myself. You know you don't like noise at this time of day.

"Teh inuts," I called determinedly. Ms Munroe stared at me aghast. Ms Grey burst out laughing. I gave them my sad early morning face. Poor me. I'm trying here. Then I burst out laughing too. That woke me up a bit. I knocked on another door. "Ten minutes ladies," I called through the door in a proper teacher voice. Ms Munroe andMs Grey turned back to their own doors.

I could hear the laughter in Jean's voice as she called: "Teh in uts, ladies," at each door along the corridor. I stuck my tongue out at her and she flashed me a brilliant grin.

Cheeky mare.


	40. In which we discuss algebra

Mr Summers, being the kind of man that he is, lead the warm up. A stretchingbit followed by running round a field. I understand the reasoning and everything, and running doesn't bother me that much, but I do find it a little dull. I jogged along at the back of the herd of kids carefully not wrapping my arms around my waist to support my bouncing… assets. Sports bras are all very well but, basically, they don't work.

I was dividing the teachers and pupils into two groups; Enthusiasts and Sufferers. Enthusiasts tended to be in tee-shirts, up the front and calling encouragement to people. Sufferers were like me, in sweatshirts and bored expressions. Mr Summers was a definite enthusiast. Munroe looked like a sufferer but I suspect that's because she finds life boring, rather than this activity in particular. Mr Logan was a sufferer too, because anything involving the fools here is suffering. On the other hand, he did inject the abuse he was hurling at kids with enthusiasm...

Dr Grey was dressed like a sufferer but was trying to pretend she wasn't one. Didn't fool me. She wanted to be wearing heels. I could tell. Hank, by contrast, was a big fuzzy blue enthusiast. In a sports vest that on most men would have looked ridiculous. It actually quite suited him. Remy was dressed like an enthusiast but I could tell he smoked too much to actually enjoy this stuff. Plus he looked annoyed and hung over. Ha.

My trainers were still squelching from last night, which is why I weasn't an enthusiast. Otherwise I would have been bouncing away, right. Shut up. It'shard to be enthusiastic in those circumstances. About a third of the kids were enthusiasts. The other two thirds were sufferers, but pretty good-natured sufferers. Nobody was actually whining, probably because it wouldn't have gotten them anywhere.

A hundred kids, ten permanent staff. Not great ratios, even if some of them are almost eighteen. Maybe even especially if some of them are almost eighteen…

"You're Ms Jacobson," a smallish blondish boy informed me.

"I would appear to have no alternative," I replied.

"You broke Mr Wagner's breast bone. Mr LeBeau was real mad at you last night. Kept calling you 'dat dumb fille'," the kidinformed me.

"Can't say as I blame him," I told the kid. "Falling down stairs and nearly killing someone wasn't exactly my finest hour."

"You don't mind that he was calling you names?" he asked.

"You go through life, you get called names. Fact of life. Get used to it," I told him. Secretly I was planning to kick LeBeau's arse but that really wasn't the sort of thing you told squibblets. And I would have been planning to kick his arseanyway so it wasn't like it was just about the name calling.

"I hate when people call me names," the kid told me.

"Well it's not exactly pleasant," I said.

"Dr McCoy told him to stop it, so Mr LeBeau said he was hot for you. Then John said Kitty was hot for Mr LeBeau. Then John got a detention off Mr LeBeau." Note to self. Say thank you to Oz and offer to take that detention. In Ms Munroe's classroom. Ahh glitter.

"That was foolish of him," I said.

"And Mr Summers asked to see Mr LeBeau outside for a minute. Kitty says it's 'cause you're taking his drivers ed course this semester." Oh man. I'd been blanking that one. "And she says you're taking Mr Wagner's classes till he's better, on account of it's your fault he's not teaching just now."

"Well something like that," I said equably.

"That means you've got my class for maths after breakfast," the kid said. "I'm Jamie Maddox. Are you going to teach algebra?"

I raise my eyebrows to denote curiosity. "What's that?" I asked innocently.


	41. A discourse in PE rotas

The rota of duties for P.E made for entertaining reading this morning. There are ten members of staff, plus a coot. Two are currently off site doing… something. One is currently incapacitated and the less said about that the better. Each P.E activity is covered by two teachers so that if someone is missing the groups can merge and no-one misses out (McCoy explained that one to me yesterday). The coot is excused on the basis that the boss should have a lie-in. And let's be honest, out of all the people here, he need the beauty sleep the most. That leaves five activities to be supervised by seven teachers. Not too bad, right?

Then you read the names of the activities and that's where life becomes amusing. Mr Logan and Ms Munroe are doing hand to hand combat this term. I'd love to watch that one go down. Who would win in a fight? Are thy allowed to use powers? What kind of powers do they have anyway? Mr Summers and Dr McCoy are doing team games - I hope that means volley ball. Dr Grey and Mr Summers (yes I was confused too. Apparently he has a brother) are doing target practice - a less physical form of physical education I can't think of. Wimps.Mr Worthington and I are apparently teaching tennis, which could be interesting given my level of co-ordination. And that just leaves the so-called _Mr _LeBeau and Mr Wagner. Apparently they teach gymnastics. I'm picturing ribbon dancing. Hee hee.

Now I've been told I'm covering Mr Wagner's lessons. So does that mean I do gymnastics or does it mean I do tennis. This is my current dilemma. I know the answer is probably obvious but I'm still too early morning brain-ish to work it out. In my old job I used to get in to work three hours early, just in order to wake up before the kids got in. I'm not kidding. That's how long it takes. Of course in order to have gotten up three hours early for this, I would have had to get up at 4.30 in the morning, after having had three hours of sleep. That might not be the best plan in the world…

Anyway, I was doing alright for a while, what with knocking on doors and stuff but now the running has sent me backinto sleepy-Amanda mode. Never good. Dr McCoy comes over to me with a genial and dazzling smile. "You will be alright taking the tennis groups on your own won't you?" he asks me. I nod and smile. The quick answer to my question provided. Tennis. Yuck. "Scot says he's happy to come over and help if you'd like, but…"

"You'd both rather he was doing team games," whatever that is. I finish the sentence for him and he looks slightly embarrassed. "No worries. I can handle tennis." I so can't handle tennis. What the hell do I know about tennis. Why aren't I doing football. I know about football. Not that crappy American football game, that is secretly rugby for weeds. Proper football. Football using feet. Sigh. Tennis.

"They're fairly self sufficient," he tells me, clearly relieved by my tranquillity.

"Great, we'll play some matches," I say as twenty or so gangly teens straggle towards me talking and laughing. They look utterly relaxed. My heart is about to jump out of my chest. That Pryde girl is with them. That's all I need.


	42. Containing a tennis lesson and a fool

I lead the kids off to the tennis courts having sent the insufferable Pryde child to fetch rackets and balls. Once there I send them off doing side steps back and forth. I informed them all that they should be moving their arms while they did it, since they have to warm up theirarms as well as legs if theyare going to be ready for tennis. I watched with an inward sense of amusement as twenty odd teenagers flapped up and down a tennis court without thumping me. Part of me knows that I would have done it without arguing, too, at that age.Part of me is waiting for one of them to tell me to sod off.

"Here they are, you know you ought to have got them ready before the lesson started," Pryde appears behind me having apparently floated up behind me for all the noise she made sneaking up.

"Yeah," I agree, "but we've already established that I have no idea what I'm doing here." I smile amiably at her. "You any good at tennis?" I add hopefully.

"Actually I used to play back home," she returns calmly. She doesn't add the word 'fabulously' but it is certainly implied. "Mr Worthington and I often play in the afternoons."

I glance over at her and feel a slight smirk creasing the corners of my mouth. I bet she play's golf as well. I'm not trying to be nasty but talk about your quintessential posh girl. If the girl was more of a cliche she'd appear in chick lit.

"So I'll know when you're cocking up," she adds. "And I'll let everyone here know it."

Shit. My smile evaporates. I knew it was too much to hope for that she'd offer to help me. Damn.

"Ah well," I say, "knew it was too much to hope for." I grin at her encouraginglyand then yell; "Alright, everyone get a racket and a ball and be in a line all the way along this nice white line here." As the kids bundle each other trying to be the first to get a racket I add; "this is a test people. Who knows how to work in a team…" Everyone instantly steps back. Team work. McCoy mentioned it. Big deal in this place. Practically the magic word. They all desperately want to show themselves as team players. I'm not sure why yet, but I'm pretty sure Mick'd be interested to know it.

We (and when I say we, I mean they) do a little serving. As prompted by the questions: Okay what do we already know about serving. Who's going to show me first of all? What did they do wrong? and so on. Actually self-directed teaching is pretty easy with teenagers. I'm used to trying it on with five year olds. OPkay what do we already know always turns out to be nothing whatever and you have to start from scratch.With these people they already _do _know. Worthington's probably a proper teacher. Either way Ididn't actually need to know anything at all to teach the lesson, which was handy...

After that we do a little returning, and by that point I can identify groups. Thenit's justa matter of you, you and you bugger off and play a match winner stays on. I had three of those. The rest of you lot the points come when you establish a rally. Every time you partner returns the balls you get a point, and if they don't you apologise. Piece of piss lesson. So nyah to you Pryde. Plus I'm telling on you given as how you refused to help me. Call _that_ team work?

I run into LeBeau on the way into the changing rooms. "That Pryde kid related to you or what?" I ask him.

"Remy don' know what you mean fille."

"She ain't much of a team player. Like you. She's got it in for me, also like you. Oh and she reckons she's better than the world."

"Remy don' think 'es better dan de world," he tells me.

I raise a cynical eyebrow. "You sayin' you wusn' callin' me 'dat dumb fille' last night, kid?"

"Remy ain' saying he ain' think 'e's better dan dis fille, mais e'sno' necessaire better dan de 'ole worl'," he tells me.I shake my head and walk away. And to think, I'm trying to help this arse. Who's the fool here?


	43. In which there are welsh publicans

Ahh. Food is good. I found out all about food in this place. It depends which member of staff is in charge that day. Yesterday Logan. Doughnuts and pizza. Today Ms Munroe. Pancakes for breakfast. A team of kids is working on them. Very impressive organisation. And also: Yum. I sit down with coffee and pancakes and a blissful smile. You can't argue with proper American breakfasts. Maple Syrup. Mmmmmmmmm.

"Hey Jay yur layte," I hear. "Hey Jay, yur layte." Oh for crying out loud. I look round. Other teachers are definitely staring. I'd take out my phone and look at it to see who's calling but with these ring tones you kind of know already. Danny. I don't want to talk to Danny. I know I promised Mick that I would, but you know, that could easily have been a lie. Yeah. right. Who am I trying to kid? I answer the phone. Actually I kind of don't. I get half way through "Hi," before I'm steam-rollered.

"You fell offa rroofe. A RROOFE! What were you thinken' bach? You prormised me you'd stopped frrree climbin'. Yuh swore bliynd you'd stop doing stuepid thengs like tha'. You left your job. Yuh moved to the other siyde of the world. You're consorting with known crrriminals and falling off a RROOFE! Sweet Mary, Mandy! I know I'm no' legally respohnsible for yuh anymore…"

He's running down now. You can tell. I've heard this refrain many times before so I join in for the ending. "...but I still feel responsible for you." I shouldn't have done it. It was a mistake. It was going to prolong the agony but I just couldn't help it. And now everyone is really staring at me. I get up, abandoning my beautiful pancakes to get cold and walk out into the corridor. Full of sprogs. Shit. I find a lift and walk in and press a button. It starts moving. I'm alone. Thank bugger.

During this time there is an uncomfortable silence between my brother and I. Sweet agonising silence. He does silence better than Mick. I never feel guilty around Mick. He ain't the boss of me... Danny though. Danny's the boss of everyone in the fucking world. Damn publican. Damn sodding arsehole guilt. He's right. I did promise. Shit again.

"I'm sorry," I say at last. "I should have told you." All I get for this admission of guilt is a silence thatextends to infinity. Naturally enough I feel myself getting annoyed. "I mean, not about the climbing on the roof thing. You're totally irrational, about that shit." I might have promised, but it wasn't like a promise you mean. It was a: 'I promise not to tell you about it when I do,' promise. He knew that for Christ's sake. He _has_ met me before. "I'm mean I'm sorry about about moving countries and quitting my job and stuff. I should have mentioned it, yeah, but you've got to get used to it, Dan, you ain't responsible for me nuh more."

"Well apparrently sumone needs tu be," he says with sad Welsh inflections replacing the blind rage he was exhibiting earlier. "'Ow cud yeh be su stuepid?"

A little background. Danny took us in. He didn't need to but he did. Dad threw Ollie out. Literally. Broke his nose on the doorframe while I was in hospital after the car accident. Both of us got tooken into care. Just a couple of months till we turned 16 and then the state would have been absolved of any responsibility. Mick was seventeen. Martin nineteen, just turned. Too old for care. Still too damn young to cope alone. They got on a train and went to Danny's. And he came down like an avenging angel and removed us all. It was actually kind of amazing. He had legal guardianship for Ollie and me for exactly three months. Made dad sign the paperwork. Ollie still lives with him. Danny I mean, not dad. I'm more like a boomerang baby. I just go back when I'm down and out… regularly...

There is silence again, stretching like chewing gum reaching it's elastic limit. There really isn't a decent answer to his quesion. He knows how stupid I am. What the hell can I say?Ollie's with him. Ollie's safe. That's the important thing. "How are the girls?" I ask.

"Missing their auntie, so," he replies. I laugh.

"Yeah nice try," I say. "I was working in bloody London."

"Damn sight nearer than the States though," he says. I can practically hear his effort not to grin. Thank God for that. And now here's a problem. I want to tell him everything that is happening. My Welsh Bhuddist Publican step-brother. My pseudo-dad. When I work for him I'm always late for my shifts. He says that's why he loves me. He _understands_ the crap. So I want to spill it all out to him. Get it off my chest. How scared I am. How Ollie might be in danger. That mum might not be dead. How life has spun completely out of control. Again. How I'm supposed to teach GERMAN for crying out loud. And,of course, then there's the issue of how I don't even remember applying for this job. It's a blank. To be honest it's all a bit of a worry right now…

Nevermind. I can always have my old job back right?


	44. In which we discover prostituition

"I will be able to keep my job, whenever this one falls apart?" I say before I can stop my self. The doors of the lift have opened and I'm in a bright white corridor. It's kind of freaky. I wonder where I am.

"Why wud it fall apart, now?" he suddenly sounds too interested and I know I need to back off. I'm giving too much away. Shit.

"Oh come on Dan, how many holes have you picked me out of so far?" There are doors all the way down the corridor with buttons you have to press in order to get them open. Tempting. Buttons always are. But I've made that mistake once before. Pushing buttons is great way to give people your fingerprints. I'll come back in gloves.

"Well let me see now, there was that unnndercovvver nurrrserrry job-" he starts. The burr of his voice infinately soothing.

"We don't discuss that!" I say it too loudly. I can't help it. Any reference to that makes me want to hide in a corner a rock gently. Hideousness.

"Then therewas that brieeef stint as an unnndercovvver 'ooker…" he continues as if I hadn't spoken. What's great about Dan is that no-one ever takes him seriously. He can say whatever he likes on an open line and he just doesn't sound believable.

The hooker job was quality. Really funny. Mutant hookers have the BEST sense of humour. It was great. Until Mick found out and pulled me off it. They tried to stick us back in the office at that point. Yuck. Dull.

Oh, hey, look. An open door. What's inside? Hee hee, speaking of hookers. The room's full of weird leather suits. I wonder how many there are?

Oh fuck. I hear footsteps outside. Clippy cloppy footsteps. Women steps. I leave the room and smile broadly at that ever so lovely mind-bender Ms Grey. Just what you need when your mind is full of hookers…

I smile a hello at her and continue talking to my brother.

"…and you fell aparrrt prrret-ty reggguelarrrly at Univerrrsity see, althouegh, technic'ly like that wasn' your _job_ falling apart tha'. Just a whole _lot_ of othher things."

"Man, shut up. You really know how to make a person feel good about themselves don't you?" I ask him in exasperation. Just the conversation to be having when you are accidentally in the basement in front of a colleague you hardly know! "Look, Danny, I'll call you later yeah, I'm late I've got to work."

"Don't scrrrew up hey. I'm not giving you annnother job here. You pour a lousee pint."

"I do not," I give it indignant. "Your just jealous because the regulars like me best 'cause I'm prettier than you."

"Yeah, that's the prroblem there, tha'tis. Hey though, call Oliver layterr will youe? He said there's something immporrrtant that he needs to talk to you about. Woulddn't tell me what it was like though."

I feel like I just swallowed a bucket of cold sick. Literally. I'd been ignoring Magneto's threat… Plus I missed out on pancakes. I need food. I hope there's still time. Poor me.

"Okay, cool, talk to you soon, Dan. Love you."

Jean Grey is standing not five feet from me. If nothing else I can make her feel bad for eavesdropping, right?

"Love you too, look after yourself rrigh'?"

"I always do." We hang up and I give Grey the grin again.

"Sorry about that. My big brother. He's kind of protective, you know?"

She smiles at me. "Which brother is that?"

I roll my eyes, "Hell all of them. That was my step-brother though. He's cool. I wanted to get away from the sprogs so I could talk to him, yeh know. Got in the lift and pressed down. Thing is, I'm not sure where I'm supposed to be right now. I was vaguely looking for Mr Wagner. I'm covering his class next and I wanted to check what he wants done…"

"The infirmary's on the next floor up," she tells me.

"I knew it was down, I just didn't know how far," I laugh. "This place is a real rabbit warren isn't it?"

"Yeah, it can be confusing. I'll give you the grand tour later if you like," she says.

"That's really nice of you," I say. And then I start humming softly. I do it for a laugh and I get one.

"Your stomach'll probably feel better if you eat something. John'll make you some pancakes upstairs when you're done with Mr Wagner. If you're quick," she tells me.

"Are you going to make me sing again?" I ask. I get another laugh and we head back to the lift.


	45. In which we acquire a mimic

I'm standing in front of another brand new class of kids feeling the adrenaline kick of the performance. Twenty kids, taking up more space than I'm used to. I still can't get over the size of them. And in just a moment they are all going to be looking at me. Waiting for me to do something. It's a bit like stand-up comedy but you've got this regular gig that just won't go away. Oh and plus the audience has to be there by law. And this lot are teenagers, so they really, really, don't want to be amused.

"Alright eyes," I call out. I'm tired of waiting.

"Two," calls back a joker. Everyone sniggers. I can go with that.

"Ears?" I query. "Count them," I say patiently when this is greeted by silence. "This is a test." A lone hand wanders up.

"I'm guessing you are the only one who can count," I remark cheerfully. More hands. None enthusiastic.

"Takes a while to figure out," I continue. I point to one of my own ears and mouth "ONE" in an exaggerated way. Jubilee lets out a snort and puts her hand up. I point to my other ear and mouth "TWO". There are still the hard core at the back of the room. I smile warmly at them and ask Jubilee.

"Two," she says grinning at me.

I point at the back of the room. "I'll come and help you guys in a minute." They give me the evil eye. "One more question," I continue, "Mouths?"

Almost everyone has hands up now. "Yeah," I wave at a kid.

"One."

"Correct. Two times as many eyes as mouths. Two times as many ears as mouths, so here is my question children," You just got to love the evils from the back row. Ain't no-one calling me a child, "Can you turn it into an algebraic expression. I want the number of mouths in terms of the number of eyes. Then flip it on its head and give me the number of eyes in terms of the number of mouths."

They are all staring at me. "Okay," I say, "I'm asking a lot. I'm gonna give you two minutes to talk about this to your nearest neighbour." Jubilee is already turned. You gotta love that kid. I'll love anyone who wears bright yellow when everyone they know is opting for either your pink 'n' blue cutsie or basic black. "ABOUT THIS!" I shout. "Not about anything else. WORK THIS OUT children, 'cause it surely ain't too hard and if you come back to me with nothing I'm going to make you look stupid."

I set up a kitchen timer on my desk for two minutes. I'm regretting it already. Two minutes is way too long but I'm a woman of my word. Two minutes I said and two minutes it thus shall be. While it's going I wander to the back of the room.

"Yeah right, like she's gonna get us that way," I hear as I approach.

"She's just a non, what's she gonna do? 'This is a test _children_'. Did that like EVER work?" Ooo, I have a mimic of my very own. Actually she's pretty good. Maybe I can set up a drama club.

"I heard she used to teach nursery," says the first one. She has green hair. It looks pretty cool and I'm kind of jealous. I never looked that cool when I was growing up.

"Well she better go back there. 'how many ears do you have?'. Like I don't know, honey, maybe I'll grow some more."

"So, you figured out what you're gonna do yet?" I ask with a carefully crafted wide-eyed nursery teacher innocence. I'm perky. I'm cute. I have no idea about teenagers. I never ever was one.

"Y equals two X," says the green haired kid swivelling on her seat to face me. "Want me to draw you a graph?"

"Yeah, actually, that'd be great."

The mimic kid lights up. Twinkly little lights at the end of her hair. It's real pretty. "Your timer's going off," she remarks.

"Cheers," I say and wander off back to the front of the room.


	46. Containing an unprofessional incident

The thing about teaching is this; some you win, some you lose. I'm not saying it was the worst lesson I've ever taught. The class didn't have to get evacuated to the playground. No-one got stabbed with anything sharp. No-one threw up on me or on themselves. No-one ran out screaming and I didn't have to call for help. So it wasn't the worst lesson I've ever taught. I once went in to cover a class for ten minutes and this kid tripped over and cracked their skull. That was probably the worst lesson I ever taught.

Mind though, this one was a long way off from being the best lesson I ever taught. Actually, to be honest, I'm not sure there's ever been a best lesson. Maybe we should go for least appalling? Anyway you get the picture and now all I really wanted to do was to crawl back into bed and forget about the world. As you can probably imagine, then, it wasn't the most wonderful news in the world when I came out of the classroom to find the allegedly Mr Remy LeBeau leaning against the wall.

Some people have the air of holding a cigarette even when they're not. Remy's like that. I see him and I want to try and bum a fag (I love saying that in the States). What he was actually holding was a text book and a coffee cup. "Hi," he said to me, "Remy bough' you a peace off'rin'," he held out the coffee. I looked at him like he was mad, then sniffed the cup pointedly. There was a ghost of a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.

"Why?" I asked. I always look gift horses in the mouth. I mean seriously, who doesn't? Who wants a crappy gift? I don't want a (metaphorical) horse with broken teeth.

"Hey, Remy has to work wit' de fille. Might as well build some bridges, non?"

"Mm-hmm," I say, ever suspicious. "And again I ask: Why?"

Now he hands me a text book. "You takin' de drivers ed. class," he says. "You gonna need dis." I look at the book, it is called 'The Basics Mechanics of Cars'. It's like three inches thick. I look at him. "Summer's," he says, "'ees a little funny about de cars."

"Okay," I say. I really don't have a clue what's going on but I'm definitely proper nervous now...

"So, Remy needs to know what's going on wit' you," he says after a long pause. "And he needs a cigarette while he asks, so we goin' tuh go for a walk."

"Yeah, happen I will," I say, using it in the Yorkshire sense, that is to say never going to happen. I turn away. After all, this conversation is unlikely to get me anywhere good.

He follows. "Seriously, fille..." he starts and I finally snap. It's not big, it's not clever and it damn embarrassing but there you are. It's been pissing me off ever since I saw him.

"I have a name, damn it. I have a sodding bloody name. It's Amanda. My friends call me Jay. You can call me Ms fucking Jacobson. Not Amanda, not Jay. Not Mick's sister and certainly not sodding fille. Ms. Jacobson. Can you say that? Ms Jacobson. Geddit? I'm not asking for the moon!" I stalk off. As I do I pass the mimic and green-girl make woooing noises. "She put you down like a DAWWWG!" calls someone else.

"Dang, does your momma know you talk like that?" someone else says.

Damn. I forgot about earwigging kids.

Oh well I didn't like this job anyway. And I can probably still go back to the pub...


	47. Presenting xenophobia in Scotland

I head to the staff room so I can find some German exercises I can hand out in the German lesson I'm supposed to be covering last session. When we lived in Glasgow I gave up on German. I was in Year 9 and I knew I wasn't going to try for a GCSE in this insane language. I mean at my last school I'd been studying French and Spanish (which is just a confusing combination if you ask me...) and I'm the first to admit I hadn't discovered a linguistic gift, but German.

German.

Well, I'm not trying to be funny but German is just something else. It probably didn't help that I was two years behind everybody else in the class... Never good, but then there was also one Herr Eric Lensherr. The man just can't teach. And he is evil (just read the file for Christ's sake) and insane, and naturally, he had it in for me. Why else would I have done badly? Obviously I was working really hard...

That was also the year that my mother disappeared. Clearly this can all be blamed on the German language and by extension all the German speaking peoples of the earth. Except for Herr Wagner, of course, he's sweet.

Anyway... I log on to the net and start a search. I did check this out with Herr Wagner earlier, before you denounce me. He said that it would be fine. I really hope he gets better soon.

I hear the door but don't turn immediately because I've just clicked a link and I want to see if it's going to take me anywhere. When I turn around I almost fall off my chair backward. Xavier. Right behind me. He can sneak because he's on wheels. That's gotta be cheating, right?

"Hey," I manage and smile brightly. "Just, you know, getting a few resources?" I say. The question mark wasn't intentional, but I'm nervous.

"Ah, Ms Jacobson, I'm glad to see your settling in," he says.

"Thanks," I manage not to add sir, but I can't think of anything else to say.

"I would like to ask you a favour," he tells me. I smile and look inquiring. I'm shy. You might not have noticed but I am.

"While I understand you have a slightly chequered past with Mr LeBeau..."

"I didn't mean to swear at him like that, sir, it's just he kind of wound me up. You know? I mean, with the fille thing. It's so condescending and it was driving me insane. And then, you know, what with being stressed, and jet-lagged, and I kind of had a late night last night, and my tolerance has gotten pretty low..." I blurt out. Please don't let him fire me.

He smiles a tolerant smile. "Please don't be nervous," he says. "I entirely understand and although I would obviously like to see a higher degree of professionalism in the future, you really don't have to call me sir. Charles if fine."

My face is on fire. Damnit.

"Anyway, as I was say while I understand your history with Mr LeBeau has been somewhat trying would like you to meet with him after class today and discuss with him the exact position he is currently in with the British Secret Service. As you may know Mr LeBeau was caught up in an incident with the Service in New Orleans recently and while he is on staff I need to ensure that the education and wellfare of the children is not going to be compromised by his presence."

"The exact position he's in," I say faintly. What the hell am I supposed to say? My brother and my ex- um, buddy, are outside wanting to arrest both me and Mr LeBeau as well as the entire rest of the staff unless I can come up with something to prove they've got no connection with the Brotherhood. And based on the leather jumpsuits I'm not feeling to confident of that myself right now.

I'd rather be teaching German...


	48. Showing the advantages of war

I meet LeBeau as I leave the German session I was running. I can't, in all conscience, call it teaching... Anyway, he's coming out of the language lab next door having just finished a French session of his own. He probably wasn't teaching either. When we meet we are both still in performance mode, awaiting the dreadful come down that follows the end of a day's teaching.

"Ms Jacobson," he says and extends his hand as if meeting me for the first time. Yeah, okay so it was sarcastic and patronising, but it was better than fille, right?

"Mr LeBeau," I reply, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Remember you're on duty tomorrow," Ms Munroe shouts down the corridor at him and I see him roll his eyes theatrically. It makes me smile, seeing his performance mode.

"Remy knows, he's goin', 'Ro, right zis minu'," he calls over his shoulder, "Come on, fille... I mean Ms Jacobson, we goin' shoppin'."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I say.

"Hey! Remy's a great cook. Bu' 'e 'as to 'ave fresh ingedien's."

"No, I didn't mean... I just meant, you know, that maybe it's best if we have a chat _inside_ the school, you know, might be better than doing it out in public..." somewhere where we might both get arrested by my brother and my ex.

"Look, Remy knows de Prof spoke to you. You gotta meet wiv Remy an' talk. Seems to me i's better we do it where no kids can 'ear us. And Remy tinks a public place migh' be safer, non?"

What can I say? He has a point, but still, I don't want to go shopping. I HATE shopping, it's the worst.

Before I can argue he grabs my hand and starts hustling me down the corridor. I'm tempted to stomp on his toe, but unfortunately there are a load of kids around. Shortly we arrive at the door to the garage. Fewer kids around here but I still don't stomp on his toe. I'm demonstrating my maturity. I'm going to discus this like an adult.

"Seriously, LeBeau, I don't think this is the best plan in the world," I say matter-of-factly. "I see your point about discussing this away from the kids but we could, you know, hide in the basement from the kids, or something, instead of leaving the building..."

He ignores me and stalks off into the garage and lifts a key down from a key board.

"You using a KEY to open a car?" I ask sarcastically as I stand by the still open garage door.

He gets into the car with a laugh. "You scared to get in a car wit' Remy, Ms Jacobson?" .

"Look you can't leave the grounds LeBeau. The service is camping outside. It's gonna be ugly. Gimme a list, I'll go shopping for you," I say to him. I can't believe I said that but seriously: He can't be goin' out. He'll get arrested. I'LL get arrested. It's insanity.

"How you goin' to get to the shops?" he asks. "An' even if you could, Remy don' trust the fille to buy de right stuff. Remy gotta 'ave de best. Remy's gotta go shoppin'. 'E's on duty an' 'es go' a reputation to maintain. Come, don' come, is up to you."

I'll have to go with him. If he's going to survive in the face of Mick and Sean I've got to go. That's all. But here's the other thing. I am kind of scared of cars. Not really scared, you know, but... Let's call it a healthy respect. I have a healthy respect of cars. I don't like sitting in them. I sigh and edge towards the car. He gets out and looks at me.

"Remy 'erd abou' de crash," he tells me, his voice is softened now and I remember why people fall for him. He has the ability sounds like he cares. "Was i' bad?"

Nah it was fine. I just feel sick thinking about it and ever since I've had a fear of getting in a car. No biggie. "Man, you should have seen it," I say forcing a laugh. "We went straight into the welcome to Bristol flowerbed. And hey, we found out the one advantage of Ollie's mutation. He walked away uninjured!" Right up until he ran into the doorframe when my dad got home. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!

"Not like de fille," he says and grabs my wrist and looks at my mutilated hand sympathetically.

I pull my had away and ball it into a fist. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Angry. I'm not thinking about it. "Oh shut up," I mutter sulkily. "I'll bloody come'." Stupid man. I get into the car and fasten the seatbelt and glower out of the windscreen.

He gets in next to me, grinning. "It's gonna be real fun teachin' dis fille to drive," he say nastily.

"Never gonna happen, sweetheart," I say, grateful back to be in the jokey war mode. I don't deal well with sympathy. "Now let's go shopping huh?"


	49. In which we pose the question: How?

As the car sweeps majestically down the drive, through the beautiful grounds, we see students in little groups chatting and walking. It was too cool and damp to sit, but too nice a day to be stuck indoors when class was over. T.v., I had discovered yesterday, was not allowed until after dinner "to allow adequate time for homework and tutorial sessions," according to Dr McCoy. Rational I guess, but kind of draconian in my opinion.

Le Beau drove with one hand on the wheel and music blaring from the stereo. I sat next to him with a death grip on the door handle and the one over head in order to prevent myself from grabbing the wheel to stabilise it.

"Okay, look, turn the car around. I'm getting out." I tell him. He smiles complacently and makes no move to turn the car around.

"I'm not kidding. You can go out there and get just as arrested as you like. I'm not going to. Why should I? I haven't done anything wrong." He continues to do a good job of ignoring me.

"What the hell is with you?" I almost shouted. "This is kidnapping. If you don't stop this car right now I'm going to call my brother and have him come get you."

"Go ahead," he said, smiling. "Migh' be fun."

I roll my eyes. Both of us knew I wasn't going to do that. It's just that I hate sitting in a damn car. We turned a corner. My grip on the various handles redoubled. "Did it ever occur to you to use TWO hands whilst you were driving?" I asked.

He changed gear. "Remy do," he said. "'E uses one on de wheel and one on de shift."

"Ugh!" I mutter to myself.

"Remy wan's to know what the service 'as on 'im," he says after a suitable pause, his voice is all quiet and serious now. "'E knows dey are after 'im, bu' is it because dey 'ave some evidence, or because dey tink 'e's still involved in de brother'ood?"

"You know when you blew up that building you killed one of my friends. He was a security guard. He had a kid, little girl. She's almost sixteen now," I tell him blank-faced. I've been wanting to tell him that for years. Ever since it happened. Eugene's death had been one of the deciding factors in getting me to leave the service. His wife and I still sent Christmas cards but it wasn't the same. I was Eugene's friend, not hers.

"Can dey prove dat was Remy?" he asks and I want to hurt him. Really hurt him. Like he hurt Angie and Clare.

"Do you really only care about your own worthless skin?" I ask as a bitter taste fills my mouth. The thought that I have EVER in my life helped this man disgusts me now.

"No," he says, but he sounds absolutely calm and I don't believe him for a second. "But Remy go' to know what dey go' on him." I clench my jaw. I can't even think, I'm that angry. Shaking my head. How, how, how?

And then it starts, incoherent torrents of thought. Am I stupid? I should have let them have him. I should have let them. GOD! And these people are protecting this worthless piece of shit. How, how how? Mick's right. I was wrong about them. They are the enemy! And here I am in a car with him. I deserve to get slung in jail. Shit. Dan'd be pissed if I do though. And Ollie. Ollie will never understand. He'll never forgive me if I turn in a mutant, no matter what he's done. But how could I look Clare in the face if I protected him? How?

"Fille," he says, and I can tell by the tone that it's not the first time he's said it. I look at him, my eyes blazing with rage and my face snarled with disgust. He has both hands on the wheel now, but I'm damned if I care. I hope Mick and Sean turn up soon because if they don't I'm going to throttle this creature with my bare hands. Whatever they have on me so far, it probably doesn't amount to a murder wrap. "Look fille, Remy go' to tell you some stuff too, bu' believe me 'e needs to know wha' dey ' 'ave on 'im."

"Go to hell," I tell him.


	50. Featuring an attack on Remy LeBeau

"Already dere, fille, you do something like dat and you already dere."

Well now there's a line if ever I heard one. I raise a cynical eyebrow. "Ye-righ'," I say sarcastically. I know it's a teenage response, but there it is. It's how I feel.

"Can dey prove it was Remy?" he asks again. His knuckles show up white against his dark skin. He's all frustrated because I'm not answering his question. He probably wants to hit me just as much as I'm dying to hit him. Go ahead, sweetheart, I think loudly at him.

I leave it hanging in the air a long time, that question, letting my hatred fill the space between us. And then I think, fuck it, why lie? The bastard deserves the truth. "Vey'll only 'ave you if I testify. Tell 'em what you just a'mitted to me," I tell him. "Which I will."

"Wha' else dey go' on Remy?" he asks, pushing for more information. It takes a huge effort of will not to drive my thumbs into his eye sockets.

"Bugger all. I's all circumstantial stuff. Lizzie denied any connection to you, so did dose other agents when 'ey got caught. It all lead no where reelly. Vey've got nothing but 'wanted for questioning' on you. Well, vat and the broverhood connection. Baldy says you got out of vat vough, so even 'at'll slide if you roll over on the rest of 'em..." I trail off, to angry to continue, shaking my head.

He doesn't say anything and nor do I. I can't quite believe it when he pulls off the road into a supermarket car park. It's shocking. He's just confessed to blowing up a building and killing three people and now he's getting out of the car and going shopping. It's fucking surreal.

"You comin'?" he asks, sticking his head back in the car. I stare at him.

"Wha'?" I say.

"Shoppin', fille, we goin' shoppin'. For food. For de kids. You comin' or wha'?"

"Are you INSANE?" I almost shriek at him. I leap out of the car and run round it to thump him as hard as I can in the stomach. Couldn't do it while we were driving, but we're all parked up now and I want to pound his skinny butt into the ground. Unlucky for me the thump hurt quite a lot. As it turns out, he's wearing body armour under his tee-shirt. Bastard.

"Damn, fille," he says crouching next to me as I wrap myself over my hand. "You don' think dat 'and 'as been trough enough?"

I learn from my mistake. This time I hit him right in the eye.

"Ahh," he cries, "ahhhhhh, ow." And I feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Maybe the psychopath is going to blow me up but at least I gave him a black eye for his trouble. So NYAH to you Remy LeBeau.

"You feel better now?" he asks me when he finally stops owing away.

"Yeah, actually, quite a lot better," I tell him smugly.

"Good," he says, "me too. Let's go shopping."

And for the second time in the last hour I find myself grabbed by the hand and pulled along in his wake.


	51. Including cookies

And now I'm all confused. Still with the shopping thing? I mean seriously, what is this obsession with shopping? "I'm gonna testify against you," I tell him by way of testing the water.

"Fine, fine," he says. "Wha'ever de fille tinks is necessary. Bu' Remy needs some help to carry de groceries"

The only way he's gonna get away is if I can't testify. And the only way to stop me testifying is… "You aren't planning to kill me are you?" I ask as he drags me through the automatic doors. A woman who must be, like, seven stone overweight turns to stare at me. "It's a valid question," I tell her. She moves away. Too bad, otherwise I'd have told her both of our names and maybe my next of kin too.

"Merde fille, shu' up will you," he says swinging round to face me. I can tell he's upset even though he is talking in an undertone. I'm very perceptive like that. "Remy's no' goin' to kill you. You go ahead an' testify. Dat's fine. Remy DESERVES to ge' locked up. 'E's a terrible person. Okay, you happy now?" Having muttered all this he switches into French. It sounds like it's all abuse from where I'm standing, but like I said before languages aren't my strong point.

"I'm a little confused," I tell him my forehead furrowed.

He ignores this and drags me over to the trollies. "Push de shoppin' cart."

"Okay, when I said I was a little confused, I may have understated things a tiny little bit," I say.

"No kiddin' folle," he mutters grumpily. "You hold de handle and pull it out and den you push it in front of you. See. Like dat lady."

"Hey, don't call me that," I say. "And don't patronise me I know how to push a trolly." He smirks at me. I swear to God that man WANTS to get thumped.

"Do you WANT to get thumped?" I ask.

He blows out air and shrugs like he knows he deserves it and suddenly I feel terrible for hitting him. "You men'dat jus' now di'nt cha?" I ask "About bein' a terrible person and vat. You menn'it din'cha?" He doesn't say anything and nor do I. We both know the truth. Meekly I take the trolly.

"Vere's somefin' really bad happennin' isn' vere?" I ask as we head towards the vegetables.

"No' 'ere fille," he tells me, sounding tired.

"Nah, bu' seriously," I ask, "what's goin' off?"

"Remy'll explain. Scout's honour 'e will, but no' 'ere, okay, no' now, righ' now we need to do de shoppin' and Remy needs to focus." He is too, feeling peppers and inspecting onions. Weird. I just can't get excited about this sort of stuff. Food's food.

"I'm pretty sure it's an onion," I point out helpfully. He looks at me like I just announced the sky was orange.

"'Ow abou' if Remy buys you some cookies. Will you behave yourself den?" he asks me. Testy. I blow out a sigh.

"Only if I get to pick them," I say."You aren't palming me off with Oreos."


	52. Return of the opposing team

FINALLY we head for the tills. FINALLY he's done inspecting every bleeding _individual_ fruit and each _individual_ vegetable in the _entire _store. FINALLY we get to queue up. My GOD I thought I was going to DIE in this shop. And not all exploded either. Well at first I thought I was going to die by getting all exploded, but that passed pretty quickly once I saw how this man shops. He's nuts. NEXT I thought I must be going to die of _boredom_. And THEN I thought I might die of _old age_. Seriously. The guy inspected each INDIVIDUAL GRAPE! And he calls me mad. I've sneakily opened the package of cookies and eaten three in self-defence. As we join a line I pull another one out.

"Ciel bleu," he says, seeing me, but lucky for him he doesn't make a big thing out of it. I'm about at the end of my tether and there's really no telling what I'll do. He probably doesn't want to be in another scene. His eye is all puffy and the swelling is turning slowly yellow and purple. Every time I see it I need to eat a cookie. It looks _sore._

I take another cookie. He makes a noise and looks away from me, which is good because it means I can't see his eye.

We push the trolly out into the daylight and I blink in surprise. It's like when you go to a movie in the middle of the day, it's always surprising when you come out and it's light outside. We cross over to the car and start loading up the stuff in the back, we've almost done when I look up and see Mick and Sean coming towards us across the car park. Mick locks eyes with me and I clutch the bag I'm holding to my chest. He looks _pissed_.

"Um," I say and Sean puts a finger over his lips.

Even as they come towards us I hear a little clunk close by and see a car door open behind them. Ororo Munroe and Mr Logan are getting out of a car just across and to the left of us. "Oh shit," I breathe and duck as Mick aims a gun right at me and pulls the trigger.


	53. Containing the broken eggs of a mad man

The dart Mick has fired ricochets off the shopping trolly as I dive behind it. I land right on top of the bag I was holding. I'm pretty sure it had eggs in it. Carefully, _individually, _chosen eggs, which are now leaking all over the other groceries. Remy is down beside me and we both scurry round the car out of a direct line of attack.

"Put you hands up and come out, LeBeau," Mick's voice calls. "We don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"This is bad this is bad, this is so bad," I mutter to myself.

"Cum'on out now Mandy," Sean calls. "Dohn't maeke dis anny harder dan it needs to bay."

"You broke de eggs," says Remy's voice accusingly from next to me.

"That's what you're saying to me? 'You broke the eggs'. We're about to get arrested and you're saying this to me? Fou," I say and give him a smack on the side of the head. "Mad man."

He grins at me. I recognise the smile. It's the Prince Charming smile. "Just tryin' to inject a li'le 'umour."

I shake my head. "Mad man," I repeat but it worked I feel calmer now. "So what's the plan, we going out vere?" I ask.

"What do you figure dey do if we do dat?"

"Mick's got a tranq gun, vey'll use vat first, ven," I shrugged. He knew the rest, we'd be stuck in a car and driven to a holding cell, probably. And we'd wake up with monster headaches.

"Remy's go'a tell de fille som'ting," he says. I look over at him.

"If you tell me that you love me I'm going to throw up on you," I comment dryly and he laughs.

"No' dat," he says.

"Come out, LeBeau, there's nowhere for you to go," Mick again. If we don't come out soon he's going to chuck a gas grenade at us. That means throwing up as well as a monster headache. I could use not to have either...

"Hey," I say, suddenly realising. "You're wearing a damn vest. If they come after us it's ME that's going to get it."

"What you're saying to Remy? You want de vest, fille? Remy'll give you de vest if you wants it." There's a rumble of thunder and I notice that the once clear sky is turning dark.

"Wha' ve hell's going on nah?" I ask.

"Dat's little Stormy," he says smiling a happy smile. "Remy's little girl is all grown up and _dangerous_ now."

I peek out from behind the car and see Ororo Munroe lifted slightly off the ground, hair forming a white halo around her head, arms akimbo.

"_Little_ Stormy?" I say staring at her. "Your _little_ girl." I turn to him again. "Mad man."


	54. In which there are thunderbolts

The clouds are building now to become a proper storm and then suddenly lightening sizzles down into the tarmac just metres in front of my brother. I hear a scream, and realise it must be me because I wouldn't have been able to hear anyone else. The thunder is huge. A massive wall of sound shaking the air and deafening me completely for a minute. She's going to KILL them. Both of them. I jump up and try to run towards him, my heart pounding in my chest. I see him moving, but blood is running from the side of his head.

If he's dead... God don't let him be dead.

The wind is fighting me back but I'm determined and I reach my brother's side, tears streaming into my ears as the wind causes them to form in my eyes.

I scrabble on the ground for the tranq gun. I'm not letting her finish him off. I won't. I turn and shoot. There's nothing else to do. The dart flies true and sticks into Munroe's thigh. She looks down as if slightly annoyed, it stings, but it doesn't hurt. I watch. Slowly, very slowly she sinks to the ground and Mr Logan, who is standing next to her looking smug, turns. As if in slow motion I see his eyes focus on me and I see a kind of anger in his eyes that scares me. Please let him realise that I haven't killed her.

I can't tell what he's thinking but I see, suddenly, through my wind whipped hair, the blades on his hands. I've seen these before. I've seen them in a file, back in the Service. I saw images of the skeleton. The project that grafted adamantium onto his bones. The evil visited upon him is used to terrify the uninitiated. To make them understand the horror that has been visited upon mutant kind.

It's a shame I'm going to be killed by a case study, but kind of ironic, when you think about it.

And then Sean opens his mouth and lets out a sonic scream, carefully modulated to incapacitate those around him, but not to leave them unconscious. I can only guess that Logan has some kind of hyper-sensitive hearing because as soon as Sean starts he grasps his ears and almost topples forward. There is a flash of red that hits Sean square in the middle of the back and he collapses forward. My hands go automatically from my ears to the back of my head. Horror struck I turn my head and see Mr Summers behind me, his sunglasses are gone and have been replaced by a weird looking visor-style thing. His hand is alongside his head, touching the metal of the visor. What the fuck?

I look down at my brother. He's bleeding from his head, but not enough for it to have been fatal. I look at Sean, there looks like a burnt patch on his back, but I know that he will have been wearing protection and with luck he won't be seriously hurt.

I have no idea how long that will last.


	55. The end of a beautiful friendship

Summer's is now looking directly at me. Sean was wearing protection, I'm not. There is every possibility that I am now terminally fucked. I scrabble on my brother's web belt for more darts. Slot one into the gun. Then I feel a touch on my back, warmth spreading through my tee-shirt. My head whips round to see LeBeau crouching next to me. He's moving his lips but I can't hear him, Sean's scream has temporarily deafened me. My eyes are wild, I can feel them flicking too fast. Like a trapped animal.

Summers is moving his hand away from his head. Holding his hands out, showing he's not going to hurt me. My body relaxes slightly. I drop my shoulder and turn away from him scanning the car park and the building. Looking for the third man. Sean, Mick and one more. Always. At least one more hanging back, walking slack, picking up whatever pieces that turn out to be needed. Somebody's doing for them what Summers was doing for these guys. So where the hell are you?

Number three. Number three. I know you are there but where? Where in the the world is Barnaby Bear...

And it's almost as if I feel him. I know who it is that's out there. My old man, so to speak. "Where is he?" I mutter, and feel disconcerted as I can't hear even my own voice. Damn Sean.

Sean. I can ask him. He's moving a little on the ground. I move to him and sign, anyone who spends time with Sean needs to learn at least simple sign language. You are always at risk of developing tinnitus but the mutation is handy, it has amazing stopping power. "Where is the mother-fucker?"

He shakes his head at me and begins to reach for his arsenal of weaponry. I shove him hard into the ground. This is not the time to be escalating things. "Mick's down," I sign. "You put _him_ in danger and I will kill you." He glares up at me. I suspect our friendship is over now. In spite of everything, that thought hurts. "Where is he?"

He opens his mouth again. Ready for another blast. I can see he's planning something that will knock us out. I can feel it building. He isn't going to tell me anything.

SHIT!

I shoot him with a dart. In the arm. I can't risk him doing what he's planning. I need to find out what is going on. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts. Whatever it is that's going on, Magneto's involved, on the wrong side and I'm pretty sure LeBeau isn't.

Plus I can't get arrested now. It'd be the end for me. Whoever it is that's walking slack is going to be out for me now. Badly. I'm not just an enemy, I'm a traitor.

How did this go so wrong?

I watch the anger in Sean's eyes as his jaw slackens and his eyes lose focus. He slumps forward.

Definitely the end of our friendship then...


	56. Containing concern about eggs

Remy comes alongside me and pulls Sean's hands behind his back, snapping them into plastic cable ties to keep them out of trouble. He moves to Mick and repeats the action, but this time he binds the hands in front.

I'm scanning the tops of buildings. Eyes still flickering around the car park. Where is he? If he's left out there he'll contact the service State side. And _they _will have no compunction about invading the school and arresting everyone they find there. That wouldn't be good for anyone.

Remy and Summers are lifting the various people off the tarmac and into cars. I stay by my brother.

Then Remy is next to me touching my arm. He points to the cars. I shake my head and raise three fingers.

"There are more of them," I mouth. LeBeau shakes his head. He mouths something but my ears have now reached the ringing stage. It'll be a while before I can hear properly again and I've never mastered lip reading.

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The following conversation occurs within the minds of the individuals involved. Jean Grey is sitting next to the Hank McCoy in a car with an unconscious man strapped into the back seat.

Scott Summers is several miles away working up a sweat with Remy LeBeau by attempting to lift Logan into the back of a car. If it is useful for nothing else the adamantium makes the man HEAVY!

Jean: We have him. Beast and I have the third man. He is a mutant and he is currently sedated in the back of our car. The Professor says you should bring everyone else in.

Cyclops: We have four people down, Storm, Wolverine and the two other agents. Two sedated. Two unconscious through force. And I may have blasted a hole in someone's back.

Jean: Don't worry, hon, we'll take care of them. They will have been wearing protection. Just bring them in.

Cyclops: One of the agents was a mutant. He did something, deafened us. Can you tell Gambit and Ms Jacobson what's going on.

Jean: I've told Gambit. I can't get through to Amanda. I tried. She's shutting me out.

Cyclops: She's shutting you out?

Jean: Yes.

Cyclops: Before she was projecting loud and clear. Now she's shutting you out. Are you sure she isn't a mutant?

Jean: I don't know. But I can't tell her anything, Scott. She's shutting me out.

Cyclops: It's alright, I have a notebook.

He felt a ripple of amusement spreading out from his lover. As she broke the connection the thought popped into his head. _Such a boy scout!_ It made him smile.

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Remy looks frustrated and then confused. Like I'm being obtuse. He says something again and I shake my head again. Summers smiles and reaches into his breast pocket. I am suddenly acutely aware of his outfit. It's one of the leather jumpsuit numbers I saw earlier. Out of the pocket comes a tiny little notebook and a biro. He flips it open and writes something down then holds it out to me. The paper has three words on it: 'We have him'. I notice the neat cursive writing and feel a momentary dread that this man should ever see my handwriting...

Thn Remy takes the notbook and pen from Summers and writes a message of his own then shows me the paper: 'Get in the car'. I stand up slowly and shakily and Remy helps me lift my brother. I feel a momentary urge to pull my brother away from him. How DARE he touch my brother. As if he hasn't hurt him enough already. We carry Mick to the car and load him next to Sean. Remy climbs in the drivers side and Summer's heads over to the other car where Munroe and Mr Logan have been loaded in a similar manner.

Remy pushes open the passenger door from the inside. I glare at him. He turns again to the paper then hands it to me. He has added the word 'damn' between 'the' and 'car'. I feel a flicker of a smile on my lips and then my eyes prickle and water a little. Damn allergies. I hold my hand out for the pen and he places it in my hand. I hand my note to him as I climb into the car and strap myself in. When I look over at him he is smiling as he starts the engine.

'What about the eggs?'


	57. Introducing the remaining XMen

"So just explain this to me again," Martin Jacobson said. "You want an expert on British motor vehicles to take a look at the cars at your school."

"That's right, it's our boss really, he's very particular about who handles his cars and he asked us to find you," Alex Summers explained smoothly.

"We've heard good things about you Martin. You have quite the reputation in automotive circles," added Warren Worthington the third.

Martin Jacobson tried not to look sceptical. It's not that he wasn't a good mechanic. He could handle a carburettor and fan belt and find the clinking noises that engines start making before they go horribly wrong but it wasn't like he was anything special. "And so you want me to come over for a week to work exclusively for you?" he asked.

"What you have to understand, Martin," said Warren Worthington the third, laying a hand on Martin's shoulder, "is that our boss is a very influential man. He likes things done in a particular way, and he feels you are someone with whom he would like to work."

"And he heard of me how exactly?" Martin asked. Warren Worthington the third (Martin couldn't help thinking of him using the entire name, just as it had appeared on the business card the man had handed him upon his first arrival in the garage) looked momentarily put off.

Alex Summer's gave him a dazzling smile, "We'll level with ya Martin, we've recently employed your sister and she mentioned that you were a mechanic. We sorta took it from there."

"You employed Amanda?" Martin asked.

"That's right," Alex said. "And don't worry, we've spoken to Mr Williams and he's happy to give you the time off as unpaid leave..."

"As he has been more than adequately compensated for it..." Warren Worthington the third added, sotto voce.

"Yeah. He has been compensated, but the thing is Martin," Alex paused and smiled the dazzling smile again, "we would be asking you to come with us right away. We're running on a deadline you see?"

"And now you're offering to fly me out there? Today?" Martin asked.

"Sure, we've got a plane and we are good to go just as soon as you give the word?" Alex said. He was particularly happy about this. He had the blackbird. The actual blackbird. Sitting at Cardiff International. Alex hadn't been able to believe it when the Prof. had said yes to that, he just wished he'd been there to see Our Fearless Leader's face when he heard.

Martin stared at the pair of them with a very calm face. Either these two were on the level or they were both lunatics. If they were on the level, he'd go. Why not? He'd never been to the States before and he'd always fancied meeting a cheerleader. Plus the money they were offering was more than generous. But he was going to call Jay first and ask her about them. If she was still at Greenhill he was going nowhere - which, now he came to think of it, is where he'd been going for the last several years.


	58. Containing the threat of palpitations

"Remy tink 'e can hear your phone fille," he calls to me as we swoosh around a corner.

I pull out the phone. Sure enough it's ringing. Of course, I can't hear it properly, so I feel no particular obligation to answer it.

"You should answer de phone, fille," Remy calls to me.

"Why?" I proclaim, cutting my eyes to him. Meaning why the hell would you care if I answer a phone call from my brother. I can see it's Martin ringing.

"Dere's some tings you need to know," he exclaims.

I cover my eyes with my had in a theatric but not entirely staged manner. "So you've said," I call. "Repeatedly in fact. So how about you talk, LeBeau, and then I'll maybe start doing what you ask."

He glances over at me for long enough that I want to slam on the hand brake. EYES ON THE ROAD I want to scream but restrain myself by redoubling my grip on various handles. Eventually he looks back at the road in order to swoosh majestically back into the school driveway. Mercifully my phone stops ringing at this point and thus ceases to be a difficulty. We pull up in front of the school and see Hank McCoy and Professor Xavier waiting on the door step.

We pull up and Hank lifts Mick out of the back and onto a gurney. He doesn't look too happy, but in the tut-tut kind of way rather than the "Oh my stars and Garters" kind of way, so I'm actually reassured. Between us, Remy and I lift Sean out of the back seat. I feel, but don't hear, him moan - which must mean that the sedative is beginning to wear off. I'm not sure whether to be pleased or worried.

"He needs to be in a sound proof room if you have one," I call to the Professor.

He nods and says something that is just on the edge of my hearing.

"Remy'll take him fille," he announces. "Go wit' de Prof."

I look at him and shrug. Maybe, FINALLY, I'm going to find out what is going on, although there is a part of me that is past caring.

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When he couldn't get through to Jay, Martin rang Dan. He confirmed that Jay was in the States. As, it seemed, were Mick and Ollie. If things went on like this there would be a regular family reunion. That was cool as far as Martin was concerned - especially if he was getting paid to be there.

So now here he was on a very swish looking private jet crossing the Atlantic very, very quickly. He was watching the two men flying the plane with a mixture of interest and jealousy. They seemed so natural with it, like he felt with cars. It would be sweet to be able to go this fast whenever you felt like it. The younger one, Alex flashed him a picture perfect grin. "Fancy a go at the controls?" he asked.

"Sure," said Martin, as if he didn't really care, but shot a smile back to show he did.

Alex motioned him forward.

"You think that's a good idea Alex?" Warren Worthington the third asked.

"Oh come on, what harm can it do?" Alex asked, with a slightly wicked smile.

"Scott'll have palpitations."

Alex laughed about that. Scott was going to have palpitations either way. They were flying this guy over on the pretext of looking at the cars. Scott would die rather than let a random stranger touch them. The explosion, when it came, was going to be thoroughly beautiful.


	59. Pertaining to the outrage of kid sisters

As Professor Xavier leads the way we see three men coming up the stairs into the corridor. Two have short blond hair and are good looking in that effortless, clean-cut sort of way that you see in Scandinavia. The third has my own dark hair and blue eyes, and oil-stained clothes. No clean-cut here. I feel the urge to duck behind the nearest suit of armour. I resist, but only because it is clearly too late. He's seen me. His face breaks into a wide grin and I see him mouthing a greeting.

I know it sounds a little petty but I feel really annoyed. It's like when you get invited to a cool party and it turns out you're only there because one of your brothers told them to ask you. I'm not saying that's what happened here, but you get my point. This was supposed to be _my_ party and now Mick and Martin have both turned up and I'm going to go back to being the kid sister. I'm fed-up of being the kid sister. I got out of the service because, once Mick was in - and busily moving up the ranks at a rate of knots, I was always going to be the bloody kid sister. I went into teaching for Christ's sake. I was the oldest person in the room. NO-ONE could treat me like the kid sister when I was bloody teaching. And when some stupid fucker like Remy LeBeau came along and tried I could blast the bugger into the ground. Melt them into a pool of lead. DESTROY them.

As you can see I'm working up a pretty good head of steam here. "What the fuck are _you_ doin' here?" I ask. He makes some kind of response but I can't hear him over the ringing in my ears.

"I can't hear you," I exclaim. "Bloody Cassidy just tried to deafen me for no good reason." Both the blonds are watching our exchange. The taller of the two looks faintly amused. The shorter one looks like he is witnessing a slightly distasteful scene. Martin does a palms up shrug, as if to say, 'Well what am I meant to do then?'.

"Speak up you idiot," I call. "I can hear if you speak loudly. What are you _doing_ here?"

"You would know that, if you ever answered your bloody phone," he shouts.

I recall the three missed calls I had had from him when I last checked my phone. And then the most recent one, which I had declined to answer. "I was working, " I tell him. "What do you want from me? You know I can't answer when I'm working." Admittedly on his last attempt to ring, ten minutes ago, I wasn't working... but funnily enough I can't think of a single good reason to tell him that.

He does palms up again, this time meaning 'Well that isn't my fault, then,' and glances back at the taller of the two blonds. I can practially hear him saying 'sisters' in that godawful long-suffering way. I restrain myself from kicking him in the shins and showing everybody how right he is. The blond guy gives a dazzling grin and I can't help it; I roll my eyes. I know, I know, dumb, but hey, if you're going to be the kid sister anyway, you might as well earn the name right?

In the meantime, Professor Xavier has rolled himself over to a door and swung it open. I, naturally enough, don't realise this until the taller blond guy turns to me. "He wants you two to follow him," he calls to me.

"Thanks," I say. "Sorry about the show… I've been having a bit of a day."

"No problem," he exclaims and extends his hand in greeting, "you should see it when me and my brother go at it. I'm Alex Summers by the way."

"Amanda Jacobson," I offer in return, with a smile, carefully keeping my lips together. His hand is warm and he has nice eyes. I wonder what Scott Summers eyes are like…

"This is Warren Worthington," he declares, indicating the other man. We also shake hands.

"Ms Jacobson," he states clearly, his distaste apparent.

"Pleased to meet you," I return with nothing but a raised eyebrow to indicate my own feelings for the man.

The male version of Ms Munroe. Just what I need.

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Authors note:

Okay I know, I know, I'm getting a bit frustrated with the slow moving plot myself. All will be revealed in the next chapter which I swear I will post just as soon as I have editted it into vaguely decent shape. Please forgive me. Anyway. I hope you like this one, and if you didn't please tell me anyway - praise is lovely but I'm pretty sure criticism is good for the soul.


	60. Featuring inadequate explanations

"My mother?" I'm appalled. Actually Xavier is looking a bit appalled too. He's having to shout at me and I think it's a bit beneath his dignity to raise his voice. I bet he's one of those people who get quieter when they're angry. I hate teachers that do that, they scare the life out of me.

"It's impossible. The woman is dead," I state, all matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but she is, in fact, still alive," the Professor intones clearly.

"I _told_ you she wasn't dead," my brother says to me with an air of triumph. I roll my eyes for the second time in ten minutes. What is it with the boys and that bitch? Why can they not see through her?

"It's not like she came back for you, Martin, when dad chucked you out," I reply. "Be better for everyone if she were bloody dead."

"Aw, Jay," he says looking disgusted. "What is it with you? Why can't you ever see the good in her?"

"Indeed, Ms Jacobson," the Professor announces, manfully ignoring our squabble. "I'm afraid what I'm telling you is true. Your mother is still alive and is currently working within Magneto's brotherhood of mutants." My mum, bent back over Herr Lensherr's desk. The image comes back to me like a bad dream.

Martin and I exchange glances.

"Sorry, are you telling me that you brought me here because our mother might be planning to do something with somebody named Magneto?" Martin asks. He sounds as appalled as I did.

"I can believe that, Mart. You remember that slimy German teacher in Glasgow. Lensherr. Mum was shagging him," I tell him. "He also happens to be this mutant freak Magneto."

"Indeed," says the Professor, although it is unclear what part of my last statement he is indeeding. "As far as we can ascertain she is attempting to contact your brothers and yourself as part of... well to be frank with you we are currently unsure what they are planning, but we are quite certain that it involves both yourself and your siblings."

"Ollie," my voice is flat.

"We have been unable to make contact with him," he tells me. I feel like someone has clamped a vice suddenly and hard around my chest. I let out a little gasp. A tiny one. I left him a message yesterday, asking to stick up the Uzbek Empire stuff. Since then I've spoken to Mick, who told me to talk to Danny and Danny who told me to talk to Ollie. I haven't spoken to Ollie because of what Herr Lensherr said. I was kind of scared to. And now: 'We have been unable to make contact.'

I sit down. I can't stay standing. I put my head down into my hands. Blood is rushing in my ears. She's got him. I know she has. I can't breathe.

"What about Mick?" Martin asks. He is pale, but he is still on his feet. His hands are by his side balled into fists. I stare at him. I can't speak.

"We have Mick," says the Professor. "He is, currently, downstairs." He looks over at me as if uncertain how much to say.

"He's safe Martin," I say. "At least I think so. Is that what this afternoon was about? Drawing them out? Is that what you wanted?" I can see it now. Remy was the bait. The murdering bastard and his cronies were using him and me to lure my brother in... I was _right_ in the hallway. I _was_ only invited to this party because of my sodding brothers. And my _mum_ of all people. Damnit. I was liking this job.

"Not entirely," says the Professor and I notice that he is talking in a normal voice and that I can still hear him.

"Okay," I say softly, putting that on one side. There are more pressing concerns. "Okay then. But what about my father's other children? And what about Dan? And his wife and kids."

"We don't think they are at risk," his voice is soothing, like I'm a scared animal. I am. And I don't believe him. If she's after us, there's no reason to think she wouldn't be after the rest of them. And if she's already got Ollie...

"I want to see Mick," Martin says.

This time I exchange a look with the Professor. "That might not be the best idea in the world right now..." I say, slowly.

"Oh really?"

"He's... well, he might not be too talkative just now." How the hell am I going to explain this one?

"I'll leave you two to catch up. I need to check on our... visitors," the Professor says and glides silently towards the door.

"You said something about Sean," Martin says.

Oh man. Those two never got on. And if I'm right and the third man is the man I think it is... well lets just say I don't think Martin will like him too much either.


	61. The continuing concern about eggs

"You better not have screwed this up Cajun," Logan growled to Remy LeBeau.

"Trus' Remy, 'e knows wha' 'e is doin'," Remy replied.

"In my experience Remy couldn't find his ass with both hands and a map," growled Logan. "Just don't screw that kid up, bub, I'd hate to have to hurt you again." And then he turned his glower onto their prisoners. They were lying on gurneys, bound and gagged like a neat row of Thanksgiving turkeys. Still it was taking everything Logan had not to thump the stupid Irish bastard. Fancy having a mutation that made you scream like a girl for Christ's sake. Pathetic.

"Good thing the little shit was wearing protection, eh, one-eye?" Logan rumbled.

"Good thing," Scott Summers replied coolly.

"And who's this other guy. Looks like someone found him in a gutter? He got any id. on him?"

"Nothing. We'll get Ms Jacobson down here in a while to see if she recognises him," Scott explained calmly.

"Yeah, that's if she feels like talking to you after this afternoon. I told you it was a bad idea. I said we should be up front with her." Scott rolled his hidden eyes and silently prayed for an extension of his patience.

"Nah," Remy said, "Remy know's dat fille. She ain't gonna trus' us if we tell 'er de truth. She fin' some way of warnin' dem to stay away. She try an' protec' dat little shit brother of 'ers. She find's 'erself in de deep mess. Diss way is better. We 'ave de fille. We 'ave de fou bother's. Everythin' is goin' jus' righ'. 'Cept dat fille broke my eggs."

"And one of the brothers got hit with a lightning bolt," said Scott. No-one but Jean would have noticed his clenched teeth.

"And another guy got a fried back," Logan snarled.

"Good thing he was wearing protection, then, isn't it Logan?" Scott asked.

"Good thing," Logan repeated with a smirk.


	62. Containing reminiscences about a gocart

"A thunderbolt?" Martin asks. We are sitting together on the sofa now. I've got my knees tucked under my chin and my trainers resting on the sofa seat. I know that this is bad manners. I know I shouldn't be sitting like this and that it will upset people. Thing is though, I was brought up without any manners, I've tried to acquire some in recent years but it's going through the motions really. I don't really care, _ever,_ and right now and I can't even summon the energy to pretend.

"Yeah," I say. "He'll be a'right doe. Hank's looking after him. Dat's de big blue guy. E's cool."

"They really got cool cars here?" he asks after a while, I bob my head.

"Mam was really sleeping with Mr Lensherr?" I bob my head again.

"Man, they let me fly the plane on the way out," he says, apropos of nothing. I grin. That's pretty cool.

"They reckon they are going to make me learn to drive," I tell him. He let's out a very short laugh.

"Good luck to 'em," he says. There is a pause.

"Are you worried about Dan and the girls?" he asks. I shrug.

"Yeah," I say after a pause. "She's got Ollie. I don't fink she'd want dad's girls but... Dan's been about for us, you know. And if she's after us..."

"I meant Dan's girls. Not Helen and Katie. Like I fuckin' care."

"Oh," I say, I can see his point. My half sisters are not close to the rest of the family. Of course that's partly because we didn't know they existed for most of our lives... "Still we should probably call vem or something. Yeah, Dan's girls, dough, if she messes wiv dem she's up against every last one of us. Man even Ollie would 'ave 'er for dat."

"True," he says. "And Sean's here?"

"Yeah."

"And you're still teaching?"

"Yeah, think so. I'll find out tomorrow. I accidentally pushed this guy off a roof and I expect I'll keep covering his classes for at least a little while till he's better. He's got a broken breast bone," I explain.

"Seriously?" Martin's grinning now.

"Yeah," I say grinning back. I mean, come on. That's funny right? Pushing a guy off a roof after less than a day in the job.

"And Mick got hit by lightening?" I snort with laghter at that one.

"You should 'ave seen it. Man. I thought he was fuckin' _dead_. It was like dat time, d'you remember, when we was messin' with that go-cart you built and then it accidentally caught on fire an' we thought he'd suffocated?"

"Yeah," he laughs. And I laugh.

"And Ollie went and got Dan..."

"And then you gave him that Vodka..."

"Which Dan had brought all the way home from Poland..."

"And _then_ I thought you was goin' to be dead." It was funny though. Man it was funny. Once it turned out that no-one had actually died, anyway.

The door glides quietly open and I move my feet off the sofa. Martin smirks at me.

"Ah, Amanda, good," says Dr McCoy. "I'm pleased to tell you that your brother will be absolutely fine." He beams at us. Martin tries not to stare. It's the teeth. "Now we were just wondering if it would be possible for you to come downstairs for a moment, we are in need of your assistance. Alex will show Mr Jacobson around and then you can both rendez-vous downstairs when your brother is ready for visitors in about half an hour. When the sedation wears off."

This had better turn out to be funny or I'm going to be annoyed.


	63. Introducing the old man

"I'm guessing from the expression that you know him," Mr Summers says to me as I stand next to him. I am staring at the man on the bed in front of me with a curious mix of horror and amusement. On the one hand I'm trying to imagine this guy working with Mick without either one of them getting killed, on the other I'm wondering how the hell I'm supposed to explain this. It's small comfort to me to realise that my gut reaction was right. It was, in fact, my old man out there.

"Yeah, I know him," I say and bite down on the giggle that wants to follow. "His name's Pete. Pete Wisdom. We were in the service together." I wonder if he knows about me and Sean. I wonder if Sean knows about Pete. It's not like we advertised… well, we did, but only in phone boxes. And the picture there was carefully blurry… "He's another mutant." I flick my fingers back and forth, trying to form the words. "Flicks stuff, from his wrists, like flames… energy bursts, that kind of thing, you know." Then I stop. Obviously the man knows. Apparently he gives them off through his eyes. I mean, where do you start that conversation? It's kind of like the 'So you're blue,' conversation I tried to avoid earlier with Hank.

"Part of the team?" he asks me. I see one eyebrow raised above the level of his sunglasses.

I nod. "But not normally with Mick," I explain. "They, uh, sort of, don't get on." And Martin's here. I wonder whether Mick ever told Martin about… the covert operation with which I was peripherally involved... I told Danny, but I never mentioned it to the others. I mean how do you broach _that_ with your brothers?

"Seems like there are a lot of people your brother doesn't get on with," Summers states laconically and God help me if I don't feel a flash of defensiveness.

"He's really very easy going when you get to know him," I say. Or try to. I laugh on the last word. "Actually he's not. But he is a good bloke, protective, but a good bloke. And whose to say protective is a bad thing?" I ask.

I can still see his eyebrow. If the wind changes his face will set like that. "Any particular reason for him not to get on with Mr Wisdom here?" he asks me.

"I used to work for Mr Wisdom," I explain aiming for the same sort of calm laconic tone of voice. It's hard when your heart is beating three times as fast as normal. "Mick thought the project was a little distasteful. Felt Pete was taking advantage. Shortly after that I quit the service. No big deal, I mean I wanted to go to university anyway…" I trail off. Please stop asking questions.

"And was he taking advantage?" asks Mr Summers and I just shrug. I've often asked myself the same question. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. I certainly learned a lot on that project. And it has certainly stood me in good stead in the rest of my life. But to be fair, Mick had a point, it may also have been necessary and useful, but it certainly was distasteful.

"She was old enough to make her own choices," I hear Pete saying as his eyes open in slits. "And she knew what the project was before she got involved." Automatically at the sound of his voice I drop one hip and cock my head on one side coquettishly, just like he taught me.

But teaching you stuff like that's not necessarily taking advantage, right?


	64. Introducing another simpering idiot

"Lucky for you I didn't _look_ old enough to make my own choices though, wasn't it, Winston?" I ask him, knowing full well that I look plenty old enough now. And he's looking at me appreciatively, which is a new experience for me. With him that is, don't get me wrong, other men have appreciated me. I do have breasts and a pulse after all.

"You did okay on that job, no-one's saying you didn't, but we didn't nail 'em until we had Jessica and Angi on board did we Missy?" He laughs the familiar smokers laugh and there's a weird buzz of the old over-familiarity. I know this man well. Really well. I know if I go into his pocket there'll be a hip flask of crappy whiskey and a battered packet of fags. And no lighter. He never has a fucking lighter. I mean talk about your unconvincing pimp, the man looks like he's been living in a gutter for the last ten years.

Of course that is why we worked so well together. It took very little work to make me look a lot like the kind of stupid kid who would fall for a guy who'd been living in the gutter for the past ten years. The kind of stupid kid who feels the need to work for a guy who spends all his time nicking her lighters. The kind of stupid kid who works for a total arsehole because he told her that he _loves_ her. Lucky for both of us I never actually was that kid, and he was never interested in children, or we would all have been fucked. Lucky for us, too, that Angi and Jess never caught on to this fact, or they wouldn't have spent so long trying to save me – and thereby saved themselves.

"And you would never have had them if it hadn't been for little ole me, sir," I point out. I threw in the sir to try and put the distance back in. I shouldn't have called him Winston just then, it just sort of slipped out. We never associated except in character, but technically he was my commanding officer at the time, plus I always _hated _being Missy. I think Missy was a simpering idiot.

"It's lovely to hear you call me sir, Missy, makes me feel like those lessons weren't entirely wasted on you," he says, "But you can hardly claim to be in my employ now, can you, swee'eart? And it looks to me like you've thrown in your lot with a bloody dangerous crowd."

"Like you say, old enough to make my own choices," I point out. He does not need to know that I am quite a long way from having made any choices recently. Stuff seems to have just happened for the last week or so. I mean, I'm still not entirely sure I even remember applying for this job at all, let alone quitting my old job.

He coughs as he chuckles and I look over at Summers wondering what he is making of this conversation. "It's less you than them I feel for," he says. "You want to watch her," he adds looking directly at Summers now. "She's the best sodding liar around. Fantastic undercover but not the person you want watching your back. No loyalty. Probably working for your enemies even as we speak. She can't help it, it's just her way innit darlin'?"

I roll my eyes and shake my head like his words are ridiculous and I have absolutely no idea where they are coming from. "Always were full of shit," I mutter sticking two fingers up at him. Despite everything his words hurt. I mean I like this man. Trust him about as far as I could spit him, true, but I like him. And a little, tiny, stupid bit of me wants the worthless son of a bitch's good opinion. Work that one out.

Was he taking advantage back then? Yeah probably. Am I bothered? Not much, because ultimately it was worthwhile. We saved a lot of lives.

I turn away from him and see Sean's eyes open and on me. Mercifully he is gagged so I don't have to suffer the derogatory remarks I'm sure he would be busy making about my character, decision making skills and integrity. Still he conveys it pretty well with the expression of distaste. Well sod you too. I stick another two fingers up at him for good measure and sashay out of the room swinging my hips just a little more than I need to.

"I see you still haven't mastered the walk, Missy," Peter 'Winston' Wisdom calls after me, like I'm some kid trying it on for him. Wanker.

I don't go back and punch him.

I'm very restrained.


	65. Featuring the revelation of a lady boy

Being, as I am, immensely skilled I had found my way from the basement to the kitchen. Being, as these people seem to be, immensely efficient, sitting on the counter in the kitchen was the shopping Remy and I had bought earlier. So now I was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating my cookies, contemplating a beer. A beer would have gone down very well right now, but it might ruin the taste of the cookies. Plus I wouldn't know where to look for a beer. Man I wanted a beer. I wonder if there are and buses around here...

"You no' goin' to see you' brother, fille?" Remy asks coming in. I look over my shoulder at him and pull a face before I notice the Wolverine in the doorway behind him. He is not Mr Logan to me any more and I'm a little sad about that, but I've read the case study. I know who he is. And anyway, he lied to me. Another set of bastards for my list.

"All I get out of that is another bollocking," I say shrugging. "Frankly I can live without it. Fancy a cookie?" I push the package towards them. Just because I'm annoyed doesn't mean I shouldn't be polite, right?

"So you're a street walker, huh?" the Wolverine says taking a cookie as he sits down opposite me. "Left that bit out yesterday didn't ya kiddo."

I roll my eyes. "I may have walked the streets but at least I got _paid_ for doing it," I shoot at LeBeau. That man is a proper slut.

Wolverine grins at LeBeau who glares at me. "Hey, what did Remy do?" he asks as he pulls food out of bags and sets up the kitchen, looking in cupboards for chopping boards, bowls, pans and knives. Every time he turns I see his eye. I'm actually feeling less guilty about it now. In fact I feel slightly smug about it.

"Lizzie, Christine, Naomi," I say tipping my head on one side. Those were the agents he fucked on Magneto's orders. "Hayley, Lisa, Jo, Annie, Carla, Erin, Lucy, _both_ Clares, Abby, Jane, Jane and Sue _together_, apparently…" I continue. These were conquests back in the day… I could go on for hours with these, everyone wanted him at school. Exotic, French speaking, oozing confidence, oh yeah, he was getting some alright.

"Ah arretez cela, fille," he says irritably. "Remy ain' proud of dat bu' is in de past."

"So is mine," I say, "which is why I left it out. It's irrelevant."

"Not according to the guys downstairs it ain't," says Wolverine looking at me.

I open my eyes wide like I'm all shocked. And to think I wasted a cookie on this bastard. "Hey I levelled with you, man, told you enough stuff tryin' to keep this one," I indicate LeBeau, "safe and the next thing I know I'm in the middle of a fuckin' war zone. Could have mentioned that, couldn't you. Could have given me some slight bloody warning of what kind of school this was. But oh no. We'll just leave Mandy in the dark, otherwise she might be able to make an informed choice and then where would we be?" I ask sarcastically. It's good to get these things off your chest, I feel.

"Hey, kid, chill out, okay," he says holding his hands palm out in front of him. "You knew the Prof had the skinny on you and you knew what LeBeau was, so don't you go all indignant now."

"I did not, however, know that I hadn't the faintest beginnings of an idea what the rest of you were though, did I, _Wolverine_?" I ask coldly. When I'm cross I sometimes get lost inside my own sentences. "And no-one breathed a sodding word. Despite, as you say, the Prof having the _'skinny'_ on me."

"Look, the Prof's levelled with you now, so forget about it," he says. "You can't blame them for being cautious. And no-one's going to care about the other thing. Hell I heard Mr Summers used to be a Lady Boy and he still has a job, even though he quite clearly still has some kind of a stick up his butt." This makes me giggle. Involuntary muscle contraction you understand. We are not amused.

"We're goin' for a beer later, you wanna come it's up to you, but you'd best start calling me Logan," he says. "Oh yeah, and 'Ro is looking for you, something about planning…"

Oh SHIT! Like today wasn't bad enough.


	66. Introducing a reflective practitioner

Martin comes in behind LeBeau and jerks his head towards the door. I follow him out. It's a little sister thing. "You talkin' to that LeBeau creep?" he asks me. He sounds curious rather than annoyed.

"He's a colleague," I reply, non-committal. "I went in to find some cookies."

"I could murder a beer," he says, which makes me smile. Sometimes it's in the blood.

"They're going out later, you wanna come," I tell him.

"Did ya know that Mick and Sean went after LeBeau two days ago in New Orleans?" he asks. I shrug. I didn't but I can hardly claim to be surprised.

"Mick a'right?" I ask him.

"He wants to see you," he tells me.

"I'm busy," I reply. "Is he a'righ'?"

"He's alright but 'e doesn't believe a word these guys are tellin' 'im. Even when that Scott Summers started telling 'im, he wasn' abou' to start listenin'. He thinks these guys are in with Magneto," he tells me.

"I really don't fink they are," I say.

"Me either," he says. "You really busy?"

"Hidin' from a colleague," I say. "Why?"

"I was gonna play with some cars."

"What, you chicken to go on your own?" I ask.

"Hey, I'm not the one hiding from my colleagues," he points out. That it's a valid point doesn't stop me from pulling a face at him. It's a little sister thing.

"Fair play though," I say, once he's done laughing. "I guess it's as good a place to hide as any."

"What you hiding for anyway?" he asks.

"They want to monitor my planning." He laughs again, longer and louder.

"Shut up," I tell him and shove him in the arm. Again, I'll point out, it's a little sister thing.

"Man, when are you going to learn about jumping through the fucking hoops? You're a teacher for Christ's sake. You spend your life making little people jump through hoops, You can't jump through a couple yourself? You _want_ to lose this job?" I shrug. What can I say. I hate paperwork. I don't see the point. You go into class, you know what you want them to learn. You have sixteen ideas. You go with the one that works. And when none of them do you feel a fool. How does it help to write that down first?

"I'm thinking of telling her I'm a flexible and reflective practitioner and that my lessons tend to be more needs lead than slavishly objectives based," I explain.

"You really think bullshit is the way to go on this one?" he asks me and it's my turn to laugh. It's always nice to be appreciated.

"It's got to be worth a try. I'm damned if I'm about to start fabricating planning after the day I've just had."


	67. Containing sudden interest in spark plug

We get to the garage and go in. He opens up a car and gets that look, the one where you can tell he's completely happy. He's looking at an engine for Christ's sake, it's plain ugly. I swear I'm related to the biggest bunch of freaks this planet has ever seen.

"Man, this is beautiful," he says. He's all but caressing the damn thing.

"You sure I shouldn't be leaving you two alone together?" I ask, slightly sickened.

"Apparently you have to know all about engines before they'll even teach you to drive in this place," he tells me. It sounds like he thoroughly approves of this notion. "Scott was talking about it," apparently Martin now worships the ground 'Scott' walks on, "He said he built this fleet of cars from the ground. I can't believe Alex said I was going to be working on them. Scott nearly had a heart attack when I told him."

"So you thought you'd come down here and do a little tinkering?" I ask. I mean, seriously, I would, but I like to be surrounded by explosions Martin, on the whole, likes the quiet life. It sort of explain why he became a mechanic and I became a teacher. You can engineer some beautiful explosions in a class full of little people…

"This is the teaching car," he explains to me. "Come here and I'll show you the spark plugs."

"Why would I want to see a spark plug?" I ask, incredulity tingeing my words.

"So that you can learn to drive," he explains, like this is all perfectly reasonable.

"But I don' wanna learn to drive!" I point out or, more accurately, I wail.

"But you're gonna have to, Jay, so you might as well learn about the engine," he says.

"Ah, there you are," says a cool voice from behind me. And here's me, once again, caught between the rock and the hard place. In front, my brother and an engine, cringe. Behind, Ms Munroe, with a sedative hangover, in search of my none existent planning. I looked desperately around for a place to hide, knowing full well that it is too late. I've already been spotted.

"So, spark plugs," I say stepping forward smartly and peering interestedly over Martin's shoulder.

"I think this lady wants to talk to you, Jay," he says as cool and calm as she was. "I guess the spark plugs'll have to wait."

"Oh hey," I say giving her the bright eyed smile, "I didn't see you there. How are you feeling? I'm really sorry about the whole shooting you thing, I…" well what the hell am I supposed to say. I thought you were going to kill one of my brothers, please don't kill this one too. "Have you met Martin?" I finish lamely.

"I'm fine now, thank you Amanda," she says. Her voice could freeze an ocean. She's wearing sunglasses and I have a very brief moment of sympathy. I've been hit by a tranq exactly twice and I swear the headache lasted for a week. And I gave her the headache. Uh-oh.

"Perhaps we should have this discussion in private?" she suggests, and then she warms up a few degrees and actually smiles at my brother. Don't get me wrong, her voice is still cold, but it would probably only freeze a large lake now, not a whole ocean. "It was nice to meet you, Mr Jacobson. Dinner will be in about half an hour, I'll send one of the students for you."

You can get very dead in half an hour.

If you have a free moment please review, I appreciate it..


	68. Featuring an extra credit assignment

Ms Munroe is stalking up the corridor, back in lioness mode, only this time _I_ am the cub she is about to shake. I follow as meekly as I can, trying not to look like a lightening conductor. It's kind of difficult since there are kids everywhere and I don't really want them to know I'm in trouble. Might undermine my authority a tad, you know.

I let her take the lead and I smile at the kids we pass, trying my best looking bright and interested. I don't think they are fooled for a second. Then suddenly my little yellow raincoat girl comes bouncing over to me with a wide white grin. "Hey, Hammersmith," I say grinning at her.

She throws a pout. "Jubilee," she says.

"Oh yeah," I say. Someday she'll catch on that I'm kidding, until then she makes a great straight man. "What's up kiddo?"

"That, like, essay you set. Is it, like, green for true and pink, for, like, false y'know, or the other way round?" she asks me.

"No, no, if it's false take it out entirely," I tell her. "Chuck the rubbish. Although putting it in a list at the end would be cool, then we can see the misconceptions everyone had."

"Would that, like, count as, y'know, extra credit or whatever?" she grins up at me. It's the cheeky grin of a kid who has no clue of where the line is. You gotta love it. I cause no end of trouble for those kids, my line being slightly behind most of my colleagues.

"Yeah, sure," I say and then become painfully aware of the presence of doom behind me. "I mean, I'll have to check that with your regular teacher and everything," I correct myself. "But if you are willing to do that as an extra assignment I'm sure that'd be good."

"'Kay, cool, seeya," she calls as she bounces down the corridor towards some other kids that I also vaguely recognise. "She said, like, s'okay, if, y'know, Ms Munroe says so," I hear as she reaches them and I can't help but smile.

I turn round then with the faint hope that Ms Munroe will have stalked on, regardless of the fact that I was no longer following. No such luck, she's still there, large as life.

"Well I must admit I'm impressed," she tells me in a tone so cold I swear an icicle forms on my nose. "It isn't often that Jubilation Lee can be persuaded to do her assignments on time, let alone completing work for extra credit."

"I hope that was okay," I say nervously, "I mean, obviously I'll be marking the essays anyway and all…" but it's too late, she is already stalking away again, up the stairs.


	69. Concerning the quality of input

This place is amazing. As well as the gorgeous grounds it has a conservatory on the roof. It's like a jungle up here, full of rich succulent green plants and the soft wet smell of earth. The heady sweetness of fruit and flowers. "Wow," I breathe quietly so as not to disturb. I look around at all the amazing, living, things growing out of the dark moistness of the earth. "Fuck." For a moment I've forgotten where I am and who I'm with, I'm just experiencing the beauty. "Shit," I touch a glossy large leaf gently with my palm, my eyes are like dinner plates. "This is the most beautiful…" I leave the sentence unfinished as I shake my head in joyous disbelief. What can I tell you? I have a thing about plants.

"I'm so glad you approve," Ms Munroe says and I might be mistaken but there may be a little more warmth in her words. "This is my private garden," she explains as I turn to face her. She is surrounded by the green plants, touching her palm to a leaf just like I did. It almost looks like she is drawing strength from them. Less a lioness than a tigress then, I guess. Having been reminded where I am and what I'm here for I experience less joy in following her. Still, at least with the panic making me breathe deeply I am able to fully experience the gorgeous smell, right. I mean there is always an upside...

Ms Munroe walks on through the garden, touching plants here and there and smiling to herself until she comes to what seems to be a work area, with a trestle table. There are folding chairs stacked against the table and with swift economical movements she opens out two and gestures me to be seated. I take a seat and lick my lips nervously.

"As you know," she begins, "you are currently employed for a three month trial period." She pauses. I nod intelligently. "And during this time I will be acting as your induction mentor." I smile at her, mostly because if I try to say anything it might turn into a whimper. Three whole months. "As you also know," she say, touching two fingertips to her forehead. It's probably pounding like a drum. I'm so dead. "Kurt Wagner is currently unable to teach, and while he is expecting to be able to cover his own German classes in as little as two weeks he will certainly be unable to cover P.E for at least six weeks."

Six weeks of tennis. "Okay." There isn't really anything else to be said.

"Warren has kindly agreed to assist you in the planning, preparation and delivery of these lessons. Apparently there was some concern this morning about the quality of your input." Do I detect the hand of Kitty bloody Pryde? "Don't worry, Warren Worthington is an excellent teacher and he's sure to provide you all the help that you need." There's an undercurrent in what she's saying that suggests some of the help I might need could involve a straight-jacket. It's possible that I'm paranoid.

"Lovely," I say and then close my mouth again quickly and try and look interested rather than irritated.

"On a brighter note," she smiles reassuringly at me, "Kurt tells me he was very pleased with the work you covered with his maths group." I smile myself, it feels like a grimace. "And we both understand that German is not your area of expertise," in other words you were shit, "but you certainly made every effort to engage the children in their work."

"Tomorrow Kurt would normally be teaching a Geography class second session, followed by Maths after break, then German again in the afternoon. Unfortunately I'm teaching first session, so I will be asking to review your planning for those lessons at breakfast time tomorrow, I hope that that will be convenient, Ms Jacobson," she waits looking expectantly at me. She continues to wait.

"Ms Jacobson?" she asks finally, when I still haven't answered.

"Of course," I say at last, having unclenched my teeth from the inside of my cheeks. "No problem at all."

I should have shot her with a real gun. Or maybe just shot myself. On balance it would probably have been less painful.


	70. Featuring further cause for concern

You may consider this weird but I always figure that, when one is getting a bollocking, one might as well get all the bollockings at once. I mean, you've already had your mood ruined, right, so you might as well just get all of the bad stuff in one place. That way it's easier to ignore in the long run. You can just sort of screen out that whole section of your life. Anyway, if you can accept this premise then it will go a long way towards explaining why I had chosen this moment to go and see Mick. I'm pissed off, I don't care if it's unreasonable, I am, and if he wants to yell at me for being an idiot then he might as well just get on with it. I don't care!

I key in the code Ms Murnoe had given me using my knuckle. Inside I find Mick sitting up in bed eating dinner. It smells gorgeous but I'm damned if I'm telling LeBeau that. In fact I might tell him that he wasted my life on buying that food just to cook up rubbish. Okay, so I won't, but I'm annoyed and it's fun to think of ways to pay it forward, even if I won't actually do any of them. Sometimes having to be a grown up really sucks but at least I can still be mentally immature. Anyway, Mick's all focussed on the food but he glances up as the door slides closed behind me. When he sees it's me he lays down his knife and fork and looks at me properly. Disconcertingly, instead of seeing the expected irritation in his eyes, I see they are clouded with concern.

"Alright?" I ask, nervous suddenly. Just because I don't care, doesn't mean I don't _care_, you know.

He regards me in silence for a minute and then nods towards a chair. I take a seat and restrain myself from whistling 'Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf' by a monumental effort of will. The silence stretches, until it dawns on me that he's doing the silence thing. "Oh good grief, Mick, what?" I say to break it.

"I'm worried about you," he says finally, after more of the aggravating silence.

"Well stop being, for Christ's sake, it's annoying." Tell it like it is, that's what I always say.

"I'm serious, Jay, I don't think you know what you're getting into." And how. I have no sodding clue what I'm getting into, but that's no excuse for him to go condescending to me, right.

"I'm getting into a teaching job, Mick, okay, it's with older kids than I'm used to, but it's not quite the crisis situation you seem to think," I tell him bluntly.

"Jay, listen to me," he starts, but I interrupt him.

"Ha." Okay, so it's not original but it interrupts his flow and I'm in that kind of mood.

"You've got that look," he tells me, enigmatically after a pause.

I pull a face at him. It's similar to the face I wanted to pull at Ms Munroe not ten minutes ago. "This look?" I ask him sarcastically. "It's because I'm sick of you lot all trying to tell me what to do with my life!" At least I can be immature with my family, in fact they'd probably be disappointed otherwise, right?

"Seriously," he says, completely, and infuriatingly, ignoring me. "It's the look you used to get right before Mum used to show up. I thought that your Professor guy was chatting crap but seeing you now, maybe he's right. I think mum might be near by. And I think he might be right about her. That you might be right about her."


	71. Featuring the discovery of life on Mars

I stare at him in silence for a while. He believes Xavier now. But wait a second: "You told me Xavier is one of the most powerful psychics in the known universe," I say, working it out as I speak "And you've just been talking to him. And now you think that he's telling the truth… So maybe he's now messing with your head, and he's been messing with mine all along."

He surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing. "I swear, you are the most contrary person I have ever met!" he laughs.

I open my eyes all wide and innocent. "I don't think that's very fair. It ain't even likely, when you think about it. You just believe that because you don't know very many people _as well_ as you know me. I mean if you think about it, you probably know loads of people who are far _more_ contrary than me, it's just that, you don't know them as well, because you haven't…"

"Shut up, Jay," he says amicably, and I do, because in fairness I was blathering. It's just that I'm kind of in shock. "Tell me everything you can remember about mum," he says. "I'm getting the feeling that you may have been right about her all along."

"Are you admitting a flaw?" I ask in amazement. "Can it be possible that the almighty Mick Jacobson should have made an error. Is it conceivable that he could," I pause for a gasp and then whisper, "have made a mistake?"

"Shut up, Jay," he says again, less amicably this time. "This is serious, you need to stop pissing around."

He really has no sense of humour, my brother. I'm really not sure we are related. I mean, come on, just because something is serious doesn't mean you shouldn't poke it with a stick and laugh at it. I'd tell him to lighten up, but as it's never worked in the past I can't see why it would now…

"You've always been a good judge of character. I trusted you about other people but I never did about her. And I never did about these people either. I'm sorry. You really do trust them, don't you Jay?" he says. He's thinking as he speaks, just as I did earlier. I nod, gritting my teeth. I do trust them. Slightly further than I can spit. But on the other hand; what the hell? I can't believe this. He thinks I might have been right about mum? They never thought that. None of them. Not even dad, even though every time the bitch disappeared he would move cities and we'd all restart our lives, they all still acted like they were glad when she turned up again. It was awful.

"You used to run away," he says, as if it's a brand new memory. "When she turned up, you used to run away."

"I did _not_ run away," I state, offended. "I used to strategically withdraw to an alternative abode. I always used to come back and check on you every couple of weeks. And I used to go to school so the social wouldn't turn up."

"That's right, why didn't you just stay?" he asks. I can't believe he can't remember. I mean seriously. Where was he living? Mars? How do you forget this shit?

"She had me tooken into foster care, idiot," I tell him. "She used to try and get me taken away. So I started just to go. I'd take her money and go. She was never around for more than a few months anyway. It wasn't like it was permanent."

"Oh yeah," he says and I see light dawning in his eyes. I can see that he has, actually, genuinely forgotten this. I guess it was less of a thing for him than it was for me. And you know, what with being on Mars and everything I can see how he'd forget. "You were in care in London. You tried to drown Ollie. Mum was distraught."

"I NEVER tried to drown Ollie!" I wail as all the old hurt comes back. "I would never have done that! Why would I do that? I was eight years old! I loved him! I wouldn't have done that, that's mad!"

"I think you may be right," he says. And once again I refrain from thumping someone, but only by leaving the room rather rapidly.

"Thinks I may be right," I mutter as I leave.

Mars. It's the only rational explanation.


	72. Concerning an 'interesting woman'

I run into Xavier in the hall outside the room. "I'm pleased to see that you decided to visit your brother," he tells me with what I see as a condescending smile.

I grimace back at him and say through gritted teeth, "It seemed the right thing to do, sir." And now piss off, I add mentally. I can't help it. I want to be on my own for half an hour. I want to go out with mates and get pissed. Is that really too much to ask?

"I understand you are going out with some of the staff this evening," Xavier smiles again, I can see he's being nice, now, but I still wish he'd just bugger off and leave me alone. Sodding mind-bender. "Can I suggest that you eat something before you go. Remy has put a plate aside for you. We were quite concerned when you didn't come to dinner."

"I'm actually not that hungry," I tell him. I am, but Mick has a point, I _am_ contrary. Especially when I'm pissed off. "I actually need to go an do some prep for tomorrow," I explain so as not to seem rude. Or atleast show that, although I'm being rude, it's not directed at him...

"Come, come, Amanda, we both know that you _are_ hungry. And that you will be up early tomorrow to do all the prep you need," he says, smiling again. Weirdly, it doesn't bother me that he knows this. It's almost reassuring. Like being patted on the head by your favourite teacher. I feel my mouth turn up into a shy little smile and let my eyes show the confusion that I'm feeling.

"How'd you do that?" I ask him. "I was right pissed a minute ago." He smiles an enigmatic smile and shakes his head.

"Most people feel better just for knowing that somebody cares," he tells me. "I didn't do anything but tell you the truth. Remy has put a plate aside for you. We were concerned about you. And after the day you've had, it is hardly a challenge to realise that you must be hungry."

"But you are a sodding mind-bender?" I say, trying to gauge the man. Is he going to be shocked? Offended? Unsurprised? He _must_ have heard me thinking it, if he's that powerful, so what's he going to do when I say it.

All he says is: "Indeed, although I'd prefer it if you didn't use that term in front of the children. They may not understand, as we do, that it is not a term of abuse but one of affection. You are a very interesting woman, Amanda. I look forward to getting to know you better."

We go together to the lift but we don't speak again. I mentally hum a song we used to sing at my old school. It's about conkers. When we reach the ground floor he just points me in the direction of the dining hall and rolls off.

"Okay. That was weird," I say out loud, once I know he's out of ear shot.


	73. Concerning getting up at stupid o'clock

I go into the dining hall and see a few kids still milling. Dr McCoy waves me over to him. He's eating in that slow measured way that people do when they have to eat loads, just to stay alive. He isn't fat, but in the same way as an elephant isn't fat. He is a big guy. Refuelling is gonna have to be serious business. He's sitting with Mr Summers part one, who is looking pretty. The fluffy blue rugby player smiles through a mouthful of food.

"So you had a bit of a day, then," says Summers.

I roll my eyes and smile at them both, after all, they are going to be my colleagues. I don't need for them to see me PMSing all over the place. "You get a lot of days like that around here?"

McCoy looks down at his plate and smiles. Summers looks a little uncomfortable. "If I say yes," he says, tentatively, "you aren't going to quit are you." I laugh out loud.

"Hell no, that would remove all the fun of getting fired," I tell him.

"Don't worry about it, it takes everyone a while to find their feet," he tells me. "'Ro'll kill me for saying this but, the first class she tried to teach, they set the classroom on fire."

"For real?" I ask and he nods a happy nod. "John?" I ask, pleased to demonstrate my knowledge of the kids. I mean that's got to be impressive right? I've only been here a couple of days. He continues to nod I and see his eyebrows.

"Not bad," he says. He's trying to play it cool, but I saw the eyebrows, which _clearly _means he is giving it wide-eyed astonishment under the sunglasses. "You'll be fine, and we really do need someone with your expertise in, you know, early stages. There's kids coming in now without enough experience of schooling. We can't cover the gaps as well as we should. They need someone to look after them…"

I'm starting to feel panicky now. People really shouldn't act like I have, you know, expertise. It makes me nervous. "I should go get some food…"

"Looks like it's on its way," Summers states, pointing. I turn and see Jean coming towards us with a plate of food. In the background I can hear LeBeau yelling at kids in the kitchen as he supervises the wonderful sterilisation ceremony that is industrial washing up.

"Wow, thanks," I say smiling at her.

"It's alright, you had a bit of a day," she smiles and I smile back. It's so funny the way couples end up talking the same. "Don't expect it the next time it happens," she says. "Next time you're on your own."

"You mean you are going to try and kidnap more of my siblings?" I ask in mock horror. "I got to be honest with you, honey, I'm kinda running out now." They all laugh and I think how nice they all are. And how I do really want this job. And how I'm going to have to get up at stupid o'clock tomorrow in order to fabricate planning for the Wicked Witch of the West Wind.

"I suggest you just eat," says Dr McCoy, wisely and Jean Grey giggles.


	74. Further planning of a glitter fight

Okay, I know this is kind of horrifying but I'm beginning to understand why these people want me to learn how to drive. This is the second day I've been here and the third time I've had to drive somewhere. The fifth car ride in just two days. I shouldn't have to do this, it isn't right. There should be a pub up the road. It should be a five minute bus ride or a twenty minute walk (I'm talking maximum here). That's what life should be like. But apparently there's no such thing as buses in this part of the world and the pubs are too far to walk – well I guess I found that out last night.

Not that being able to drive would particularly solve my problems here. I mean, I can hardly be expected to stay sober, can I? And then how am I supposed to get home? I mean, for real, I'm not getting in a car with a pissed person. So you can see my issue here, right. And these guys are all sitting around looking at me as if I'm crazy.

"Just get in a damn car, kid," Logan growls from behind the wheel.

"Not until I have someone's word of honour that they aren't going to drink," I tell him. I'm less scared of him than I am of car crashes. Quite a lot less scared actually.

"You can have a couple of drinks without affecting your ability to drive," says my traitorous brother from the back seat of another car. I stare at him giving him the patented 'you're not helping' look.

"Fille, we goin' to leave wid'out you if you don' ge' in de car," Remy says from beside Logan.

"But I need a beer," I wail. "I deserve a beer. I've _earned_ a beer. I just want to have a beer. That's not so unreasonable is it?" I turn to Hank, who is comfortably ensconced in the passenger side of the second, enormous vehicle. "It's not unreasonable is it? I want a beer. I just need someone who can drive who doesn't need a drink. Or someone who'll go out and buy some beers and bring them back here."

Warren, in the driver's seat of this second car, shakes his head and looks disgusted. "The Professor doesn't like staff drinking on the premesis. This is a school, Ms Jacobsson, not a night club." I'm obviously in there. I think he may be my new best friend. In fact I think he's falling in love with me. Good job the feeling is mutual.

Alex Summers, also known as Mr Summer part two, hasn't gotten into either car yet. He's waiting for me to make a decision about where to sit. It's a serious issue. Do I get in the car with my brother and Dr McCoy or with Logan and LeBeau. He smiles at me. "I don't need a drink," he tells me. "We could drive out together and I give you my word I'll bring you home safely." I stare at him.

"Seriously?" I ask. "You swear you won't drink? You know how to drive and everything?"

"Sure," he says. He's still smiling. I'm getting the impression he finds me amusing. I would find this offensive, but he's offering not to drink. "But you have to promise to play me at pool."

"You don't want to play her at pool," Martin says. I give him the 'not helping,' look again.

"It's alright," Warren Worthington the third says to my brother. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to get into a car with him."

Which comment causes me to narrow my eyes and ask, "Have you ever had an accident in a car? Ever bumped into anything before? Are you fully insured?" Even though I know I'm now honour bound to get into a car with this guy.

I hear a noise that sounds like a dog just before it jumps on you and rips your throat out. I think it came from Logan. He looks over at me and starts the car. "See you if you get there kid. I'm bored of this." He says. Remy waves as they pull out at what, I'm fairly convinced, is warp speed. Glad I didn't get in _that_ car!

"Got a preference about cars?" Mr Summers part two asks, walking over to the key rack on the wall.

"Anything with seatbelts that you don't mind driving at 5 miles per hour," I say. He grins properly and takes down a set of keys.

"I'm not sure that is a wise choice," Dr Fluffy says. He looks so sweet when he's concerned.

"Oh come on Hank. Scott can hardly disapprove when I've sworn not to drink and I'm going to be driving at 5 miles an hour," Mr Summers part two says. I can see this man is trouble. He's gonna be all kinds of fun. _I wonder if he would be interested in my glitter fight_. I think as I climb into the beautiful silver machine that Mr Summers has opened. I buckle up and we take off at a serene speed and to coast calmly, and almost silently, down the drive and into the night.

"So, you have glitter in this school?" I ask cheerfully, as he carefully looks before pulling out into the empty country road outside the gates.


	75. Featuring the elevation of the species

"You didn't tell me you were a pool hustler," Alex says as I clean up the table, potting four balls in a row.

"I'm reaching my moment of clarity," I explain. "One and a half beers and I get a moment of pool genius." This is our second game. In the first one I managed a break without potting anything at all. This was followed by him potting two stripes followed by me potting the white. He potted another couple, then I finished the game prematurely by accidentally potting the black and knocking the white ball off the table. It had rolled under Logan's chair and I'd been thoroughly growled at until I bought a round by way of apology.

Twenty minutes and a lengthy lecture about the theory and practice of tennis teaching later, I was allowed back near the table. This time I was hitting my stride. I take another swig of lager. It's perfectly drinkable, I tell myself.

Remy wanders over. "Where you planning on hitting dat ball, fille. Dere's no pocket dat dat balls goin' in. You tink you can just bash it an' it goes in a pocket you more fou dan Remy t'ought."

I lean over and line up. Somehow my cue gets underneath the white ball and it flicks up off the table and hits Warren on the shoulder. I really did just hit my stride. Of course it would have been better if it had hit him in the back of the head and knocked him unconscious, but you can't have everything. He spins round to face us, glaring and I try and hide my broad grin and look innocent. I point a finger at LeBeau.

"Fille!" Le Beau says faking shock.

"You know that that was you LeBeau," I tell him. "Throwing pool balls at poor Mr Worthington. Honestly. So immature."

"Yo' no' even a good liar, fille," Remy states, in a flat voice that hides obvious amusement. He'd been getting some lecturing too. Something about New Orleans and responsibility...

"Come on, Rem' just admit it," Alex says and I laugh as Worthington looks momentarily uncertain about who to scold.

"Blew it," Alex mutters to me. "You need to keep a straight face."

"You be'er go an' appologise _again_, fille. Then you can come back an' appologise to Remy for tellin' lies abou' 'im."

"Piss off, LeBeau, or I'll do your other eye," I smile at him.

"Nice job on that," I hear a deep angry voice say from behind me. "Let me help you with the other one." I turn in time to see a tall guy with long blond hair. He's built like the proverbial brick shit house and he's come out of nowhere. He lands the thump on Remy before any of us has time to react.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim as Remy hits the dust.

Alex moves forward and I hear a Snick't sound from behind me but it's too late. The blond guy has reached round me to grab me by the scruff of the neck. He spins me in front of him, arm across me even as I stamp on his feet and drive my heels into his shins. I feel as much as hear his snarl."Go ahead. You think I came here without backup?" The barmaid levels a gun at my head and cocks her own head on one side as her skin seems to crawl and change - until I see who she really is.

"Mystique," I say.

"Better keep still, Missy. I'm dying to kill you after last time." She steps forward. "It's almost hard to believe that I've managed to restrain myself."

"I was always impressed by your self control," I say wryly but I hold still. I was only stomping to relieve my feelings anyway. This guy is big, strong and more than a little experienced.

The others fan out until, from behind them they hear the ratchet of a second gun. As one person they turn to clock a second, greenish, gun man perching improbably on the ceiling. Logan snarls and makes a jump for him, in defiance of almost certain injury, if not death. The next thing I see is Logan, lifted slowly and inexorably upwards, limbs spread-eagled and a look of agony on his face. "So good to see you again, my bestial little friend," says Herr Lensherr. "It's such a shame you haven't been able to over-come your natural weaknesses. Impulsivity _and_ a metal skeleton, a winning combination by anyone's standards."

"Eric stop this at once," Dr McCoy says calmly. "You know very well it won't turn out well for you."

"Oh I rather think it will," says a voice from behind them. A woman's voice. A voice I'd been waiting to hear ever since we walked into this place. Before even. The voice of inevitability. "Martin, dear, it's so good to see you. Where _is_ Michael?"

Martin gets up from the table at which he's been sitting, almost peacefully. He goes to stand with her. "He's back at the school," he explais with a demeanor of perfect calm. "Locked up. I can show you where."

"No no, my darling, we won't need to put ourselves to any further risk. I think we will be able to use your dear little sister just as easily." I look around at the others. They are staring at her as if unable to think any more. As if they would do anything for her.

"This is nuts!" I say. "Snap out of it! Help! Do something! Kill her or something!"

My mum comes forward and lays a hand on my cheek. "Oh Amanda, will you never learn? That won't work. Men are weak willed and stupid, ripe for manipulation by the beautiful. It's sad for you, I know, but there we are." She snaps her fingers and I feel the stab of a needle biting into my upper arm. A waiter is passing round shot glasses full of a clear liquid. I see the bitch raise her glass to the crowd. "To the elevation of the species," she says as my eyes close. A wave of sickness hits my stomach causing me to buckle forwards despite the man holding me.

"The elevation of the species," they chime, the idiots. And then there is a gun shot from somewhere and finally, nothing but blackness.


	76. Containing a tennis based panic attack

My face is pressed hard against an unyielding surface, slick, like lino flooring. I can feel my upper lip pushed up and drool slobbering out of the side of my mouth. I try and pull my lip down but the pain in my head is more urgent. I roll away to my right, taking the weight off my left shoulder and breast. My face unpeels from the surface like I'm removing a plaster. I allow myself a little self-pitying sob. _I have a headache… and now this!_ What the hell was I drinking last night? Not 'bucca, was it? Surely I learned from last time! What time is it? OH SHIT! TENNIS!

That last thought causes me to sit up abruptly and open my eyes. A mistake. The light level in the room isn't high but it's enough. Cracking my eyes makes them burn with such intensity that it takes me a long moment to realise that I'm still able to see. In fact, after a longer and more perturbing moment, I am able to ascertain that I can see far more clearly than I ought to be able to. I can see _properly_. And my eyes are burning. Ergo I left my contact lenses in.

But I never leave my contact lenses in. Be I never so pissed. Be I never so stoned. Be I never so wasted as this hangover would suggest I had been. I have never, once, ever in my life, left my contact lenses in.

Which means this isn't self-inflicted.

Which means it isn't really a hang-over. So what is it? I don't care.

I look pathetically round the room, squinting through my dry, burning eyes. No furniture. I need water. No sink. I need to take my eyes out. I need to sleep for about a month and a half. I need to know what time it is. But on the bright side at least I probably don't need to worry over much about the rules of tennis. And I'm pretty sure that how I got here will sort itself out at some point. No point in worrying my head about it now...

It takes me a while to figure out that I have nowhere to put my contact lenses once I've taken them out. Another mammoth amount of thought brings me to the conclusion that this is irrelevant. I take them out and, for lack of something better to do, carefully stick the little, hard plastic discs onto my tongue for safe keeping. I lean myself against the cool rough concrete of the wall and shut my eyes again. Blessed relief. Now I just need not to go back to sleep, or accidentally to swallow my only means of vision. Should be a synch. Hope I don't need the loo any time soon.

As I fall away backwards into the pit of oblivion my final thought is: Oops.


	77. An alternative tennis based panic attack

Jean Grey suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, startling Scott into wakefulness as she said, as if horrified at the thought, "Oh my GOD! TENNIS!" Luckily Scott had long been used to his lover's predilection for the sudden out-burst, however this particular one struck him as odd.

"Jean, honey?" he said, his tone implying a question without overtly asking one. He reached a warm hand up and rested it comfortingly against the small of her back.

"Scott," she said, her eyes slightly wild, "are your eyes okay? Are they sore? They… they're burning."

"No more than usual," he said yawning. He'd grown so used to the constant burning itch his mutation caused that he hardly noticed it any more. "What's the matter, hon? Nightmare about tennis? You picking something up from one of the kids?"

"I… I don't think so… It's sort of confused. Something's happening, Scott… God, my eyes, are you sure it's not yours? What on earth?"

"Okay," he said again and rolled himself upright. "We'll check on the kids first." This was protocol, this was routine. At least that's what he told himself, although actually it was less normal than he had implied to Ms Jacobson earlier that evening. Stuff did come up, and the kids always came first, but generally things stayed at arms reach from the school, not within it's bounds. He shuffled into sweats and a tee and turned to watch his Jean wrapping herself in a kimono style dressing gown. It was shaped like a sack and reached all the way to the floor… and she was still sex on legs, he thought. In spite of her obvious concerns, this thought drew her eyes to his and a smile touched her lips before they both headed for the door.

They stepped out together into the corridor. Scott insisted on having a room on the end, nearest the kids he could get. It was one of the things Jean loved about him. His ability to put them first. Before her. Before everything. Always, the kids came first. "I can do a scan just as easily from our room," she protested, as she always did, knowing what his reply would be.

"I have to see." And the warmth of her love went out to him again. That much that he could see, he would always want to. The kids came first. They snuck together down corridors, easing doors open, where possible, to get a quick check into the rooms. If the occupants were awake they left the doors closed. None of the kids would ever know about these late night checks. Scott's night visor had an in-built night scope so they needed no illumination in the corridors and thus did not disturb any of the children's slumber. They were halfway down the first corridor and they had looked in on twenty-one of their youngest kids sleeping faces, when Jean tugged on Scott's hand. "Where did they go tonight?" she whispered.

"Who?" Scott whispered back.

"Hank, the boys, where did they head?" she asked.

"Raods, I think, that's the usual," he replied.

"Something happened. We need to get down there."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do we need to wake the Professor?"

"I don't know. I'm… I don't care," she replied. "We need to get there." She tugged on his hand, and the urgency of the motion conveyed itself to him and he allowed himself to be drawn, for a moment, to follow her.

Then he stopped. "Do the scan," he said shortly. "Do the scan of the kids. Check every last one. I'm not going anywhere until I know they are safe."


	78. Featuring concern over automobiles

"Damnit," Scott said, looking at his denuded garage and reaching for a set of keys. "If it was Logan I swear I'm going to have his balls," he added in a mutter. There was no point saying it any louder, Jean had never understood his love of cars. They had woken 'Ro, and let her know where they were going and Jean had rapidly donned jeans and a sweatshirt before they headed to the garage. Now they were on their way, with a sense of urgency that neither one of them quite understood.

"It's completely gone," Jean muttered. "But something… something definitely happened."

Scott didn't need to respond to that one and they had swept out at super-speed on his bike. The exhilaration of the ride was always something, and they arrived at the bar in a sweeping shower of gravel only minutes after they had left. The kick stand went down and they saw the three cars sitting placidly in the lot.

"It's a start," Scott said, noticing no obvious damage to the bodywork of his beloved vehicles.

They entered the bar fast. Inside there was a pool of blood spread halfway across the floor. Footprints tracked through the pool and across the floor to the door through which they had entered. Turning, they could see the same foot prints, though less clearly, tracking out onto the gravel lot. "Shit," Scott breathed.

Logan awoke with a growl as the bullet worked its way out of his skull and onto the floor. "Fucking punk shot me!" he snarled and just in time stopped himself from the instinctive unsheathing of claws. This would have been a profound relief to the unconscious Remy, who was lying just within reach of the ten inch claws. They probably wouldn't have killed him, but they would have _really_ hurt.

"You can hardly blame Toad for his overexcitement," Magneto stated, smiling smoothly. "He is understandably feeling a little aggrieved over his treatment at the hands of yourself and your friends."

"He didn't have to shoot me, though," said Logan, but he felt confusion descending upon him. Perhaps, after all, it wasn't so unreasonable that he should have been shot.

"Indeed, no," said the woman, standing with Magneto and laughing, musically, at the expression on the Wolverine's face. "And I shall be having stern words with him before the evening is out, don't you worry, my love. But now you need to rest. Recuperate from your dreadful ordeal."

Logan nodded. The lady was right, no doubt, he did need some sleep. He was unaccountably tired. He yawned. He closed his eyes. Somewhere deep in his soul he felt a sense of unease, but it was so slight he could hardly help but ignore it. Surely it wasn't normal to be lying on a floor with his fellow X-men unconscious all around him. The trouble was, it felt perfectly appropriate and… well… right. It was confusing.

Probably worth sleeping on.

Why was Magneto laughing?


	79. Containing infusions masquerading as tea

The next time I awaken it happens in an awful, slow, whirl of thoughts and memories about what happened. I come fully awake on the third time my brain hits the gunshot. Someone shot a gun. I don't know who. I don't know who they shot at. I don't know why. But there was a gun shot, and in my experience, that never ends well.

I feel a rising waive of nausea and pull myself away from the wall and buckle into a ball. I pull my lenses from my tongue before I draw breath and gag. I didn't swallow them, thank goodness. Across the room I sense, rather than seeing, a movement as the door opens. I look up and see a darker figure moving against the grey walls.

"Amanda?" the dark figure says. My heart lifts up.

"It's Jay, you dink," I say quietly. I inspect my contacts and decide right from left – they are slightly different colours, before licking them again and putting them into my eyes. My eyes burn in protest and the view is murky with clouds, but there is nothing I can do. With them is still better than without.

I walk my hands up and pull and shove myself onto my feet, which complain about having too little blood. Yeah, right, like pins and needles is going to register, I tell them. Take a number. I bring my head up properly and gingerly cross the room to look my youngest brother in the face. He looks the same, just the same, as he did all those years ago when, at sixteen, he first changed. Long-limbed, slightly messed up hair, still waiting for that filling out of shoulders and chest that Mick and Mart got by the time they were in their twenties. He looks like my little brother, not my twin. I go to him and give him a quick, fierce hug.

"You'd better sit down, before you fall," he tells me, after he has returned the hug one handed. It felt like a duty.

"Help if there was a chair," I point out. The room is somewhat furnishedly challenged. He hands me a mug of what looks like tea – but turns out to be that weird red bush stuff. That stuff only gets drinkable when you put in enough sugar to stand the spoon straight up in it. Naturally this is without sugar at all and brings back the nausea.

"I'll see if I can get you one," he says. "You should sit though, on the floor or something. You know how those things affect your balance, Amanda."

"What's going off here, Ollie?" I ask. He looks blank, like he did, years ago, when I tried to talk to him about the drowning episode. It's the mum look. I don't know what it is she does, but they all get this awful blank look. "I got hit with a tranq," I explain. "In a bar. By mum. Why?"

He carries on looking blank. "You should sit, Amanda," he tells me and I want to shake him. I want to shout _I know I should sit! I should sit because I was hit by a tranq! Why was I hit by a tranq, you nimrod?_ But I know it wouldn't do any good. It's so hard to think what would!

"So where can I get a chair from?" I ask, instead.

"You have to stay in here, Amanda," he says like I'm being dumb. "You can't go anywhere."

"So I'm a prisoner then?" I ask, as if shocked. And the blank look is out in force. "Are you wearing my shoes?" I ask, changing tack. He looks down at his feet as if surprised. "You are, aren't you? You arse," I say.

"Hey, they're comfy," he says, "and you left them in my room in Wales. I thought you didn't want them."

"You lying toad," I say, and shut my eyes at the effort this is causing me. My head is pulsing. My eyes are barely able to focus and I'm feigning an argument about shoes. Because, you know, that's what's really important here, not potentially dead people. "I left them in MY room in Wales, and I'm lending that room to you as well. Jesus, are you going to be thieving my knickers as well?"

"Aw, Jay, gross," he says, and he almost sounds like himself. I want to weep.

"Oh my GOD!" I cry in mock horror, "you're wearing them now aren't you. Please, just please tell me you aren't wearing the pink ones. They were a present."

"Shut up, Jay. You're the one that steals underwear," he grins. My brother. Really my brother. He's back. I want to cheer.

"One, unopened, packet, of boxers," I say, enunciating each word clearly, then, as if talking to myself I add. "I'm never going to hear the end of it. Never." I put my weary hands onto my sore hips. "But what am I supposed to wear when I go back for the holidays, man?" I ask.

"I'm not sure that's going to happen, Jay. I'm not…" he sounds clear, and concerned. Frightened even. And then he suddenly just trails off looking vague. Damn. I was close to finding something out for a second there. Why won't I be going back for the holidays? Oh man. I hope it's not… well there's no point in worrying about that.

"Up in dere, nicking ma shoes," I mutter, voice falling heavily into the gutter by the Thames. "Ma shoes, man. You break ma shoes you is byin' me a new pair. Ain't havin' no broken shoes…" I'm so tired I could fall. Splash.

"You should sit down Amanda." It's his line, but not his voice. It's my Mum. My dear old Mum, standing in the doorway. "Come away, Oliver dear. She has her tea." He goes to her, she holds the door for him, smiles pleasantly at me, as if at a stranger, and closes the door.

I take their advice and, putting my tea down carefully, slump back onto the floor. Once again I remove my contact lenses and place them on my tongue. I lie flat on my back with my knees bent in order to straighten my spine.

Dan taught me how to do that. Dan.


	80. Irritating a little punk

Dan was never affected by mum. Of course his mum only turned up when me and Ollie were maybe seven, and if Dan stopped living with his mum when he was eighteen, then he would only have been at risk for a year or so. Plus, his mum, Helen, always used to leave just before our mum, came back. Then when Laurel left dad again, dad would pick up and move us all, to wherever Helen and Dan were living. Still, though, he never was affected.

Black.

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"If I'd wanted to live at home while I was at university I would have gone to Aberystwyth and stayed with Nan!" Dan's voice was loud and floated up to us from downstairs. We were all crouched on the landing listening in. You never knew what interesting things you might hear, and just because you were sent upstairs doesn't mean they have the right to privacy, does it?

"You'll not speak to your mother like that in my house," that's dad.

"I'll go in the garden and call in through a window then, shall I?" Dan asked. "Make sure all the neigh-bours can he-yer me. And it's her bleedin' 'ouse anyway!" I smile. I could use that. Her bleedin' 'ouse.

"Dan, love, be reasonable, you know why they came h'yer," that's Helen, ever the soothing influence.

"I know why they _caym_," he says, "I also know why _you_ caym. What I _don't_ under-stand is what you're lettin' 'em stay for!"

"They just lost their mother," Helen tells him.

"They didn't _lose_ 'er, they tempor'rarily mis-placed 'er. She'll be back, mam, you know she will."

"Well, we'll deal with that when it 'appens, won't we."

There is a knock on the door and then a frantic ringing of the bell. Ollie gets up as if in a trance and goes down the stairs to answer it. I run up the stairs and climb out of the back window. As I hang from my fingertips before dropping to the ground I feel hands at my waist. Panicking I kick backward and hear an oof as I drop. I spin, "Shh, Jay-bird, we need to go," it's Dan. We whisk across the moonlit garden and then clatter down the cobbled alley at the back, past garages and gates. We stick to the back ways, crossing roads between alleys at a dead run, and in the background we hear pursuit. Call me a freak but I'm having fun.

The thrill of the chase.

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"Wow," breathed Alex Summers looking up at the enormous piece of machinery on which he could see Toad already at work. "What is it?"

"It's a Mutation Enhancement Modulator," Magneto told him, and the other X-men who were clustered around the base. "My own design. And you are going to be helping to finish it. Lorelei wants it completed by this evening."

"Wha's a Mutation Enhancement Modulator?" Remy whispered loudly, digging Logan in the ribs.

Logan shrugged. "I guess it enhances and modulates mutations," he growled.

Remy rolled his eyes at Logan who smirked. It was always fun to wind up the little punk. Remy repeated his question, to Magneto this time but as he did so the woman, Lorelei arrived at Magneto's side humming softly to herself.

"Nothing for you to worry about, my dear," she told them, in a beautiful sing-song voice. "The blueprints are on the side there and we really must get on," she smiled, and all the men in the room melted a little at the charm it encompassed. "Otherwise it won't be finished in time, and," she made a face that was at once delightful and heartbreakingly sad, "that would be very disappointing to me personally."

"Don't worry, ma'am," Dr McCoy said, using his most reassuring doctor voice, "we'll get it working in time." Lorelei contrived to look terribly relieved by this news. She positively beamed at Hank, who looked like he might faint with joy.

"Well I would really appreciate that, thank you," she said and she turned away. Magneto turned with her and the rest turned too, eager to get to work.


	81. Could it be love?

"I feel there is a possibility that you are exaggerating the risk," Charles Xavier said looking up into the concerned expression of his red-haired protégé. "I'm not sure we have yet reached a crisis situation."

Jean stared. This was new. The Professor had always relied on her judgement before. And after all, half the teaching staff were missing, what exactly would a crisis situation look like? "I think I need to use Cerebro, professor," she said. "You know you are always saying that I should practice."

"Well, Jean, I have to say I have always applauded your penchant for self-improvement, but it is four in the morning and you'll have a busy day tomorrow."

"Because the teachers have all gone missing!" she was almost shouting.

"Yes, that was a little irresponsible of them," the Professor said testily, "but hardly a reason for that kind of outburst, Dr Grey." Jean stared at him for a long moment trying to work out what in heaven's name was going on. She licked her lips nervously before she spoke again.

"I'm most terribly sorry, Professor," she said, stomach churning, she wasn't one of natures rule-breakers and the very idea of the plan that was forming in her mind was deeply disturbing. "It won't happen again. Perhaps we should all get back to bed. As you say it's going to be a busy day tomorrow."

"Indeed," he said, he was clearly still annoyed. If anything his irritation increased her resolve. Jean Grey spun on her heel and went to look for reinforcements.

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I wake up laughing. I love the chase dreams, they always make me laugh.

I put my contacts in again. My eyes still hurt, but less so, and I blink until most of the fuzziness disappears. Then I drink the Red Bush rubbish, which is now cold, so I can drink it in one, long swallow, grimacing. When I finish I cough loudly. My head pounds.

I move over to the door of my cell, sit down and start banging on it with my fist. I want to do a rece. And the use of a bathroom would cheer me up a little too. I mean the evening was cut short, but drinking beer is drinking beer; dehydrating and diuretic, a great combo.

Actually that dream started off pretty accurate. We moved to Cardiff after the drowning incident and mum's subsequent disappearance. And Dan _had_ been pissed off. He'd only just started uni, after all. Then a year and a half later mum turned up again. Dan's mum, Helen moved to Sheffield that time and I went and stayed with Dan, my first strategic withdrawal. Helen wanted him to run but he wasn't moving. "Damned if I will, you lot can do what the fuck you like!" were his actual words.

Helen disappeared entirely after Sheffield. But we kept on moving; after Sheffield was Glasgow, then Bristol.

Whack, whack whack, my fist is getting tired. I roll round and start slamming the door with my heel. At least here I don't have to worry about the scuff marks.

Dan did meet mum though. He met her when he picked me up from school when I was staying with him and his mates. The look on his housemate's face when a small girl appeared on the doorstep, no clue what to do, it amused me even then.

Thump-thump-thump. This is doing nothing for my headache. Someone answer the sodding door.

They should install a doorbell, it would be so useful in these situations.

So Dan collected me from school that first day and I figured I he was going to get zombiefied. There he was, stood outside in the playground and there was me, flying out the door, trying to get him away before she turned up. I could see from the window that he didn't have the vacant look, but it wasn't until I was outside that I realised the other men in the playground did. I mean there weren't loads of guys in the playground – picking up the kids is women's work, after all, but the others all had the look. Not Dan, though, and he didn't get it either, he just slung me under one arm, laughing, and walked off with me. We went right past mum.

Whump-whumpity-whump. Whump-whump. Whump. "Ding-dong," I call, being the doorbell that they inconsiderately haven't installed.

It's possible I'm losing it, but much more likely that I never had it in the first place.

He didn't look at her, spoke to Mick, said; "I'm taking this one, okay?" and shook me, so I was giggling and laughing, dangling under his arm in relief and terror. I didn't look at the rest of them. Didn't even see their faces, though I know what they would have looked like. Vacant.

"Ding-a-ling-a-ling!" I shout.

The door opens inwards and I scramble out of the way. It's my favorite person and she's holding a gun right in my face, for the second time in as many hours. It must be love.


	82. Concerning the coverup of a good prank

I smile happily up at her. I am unafraid, honest guv. "Hi Misty," I say cheerfully. She glowers down at me. No change there then. "Any chance of a bathroom break? And a change of clothes would be nice. And cake. I have this real craving for cake, although anything to eat would be good. What time is it?"

I can see she's enjoying my chatter. The thing is, you see, I have, charm, wit and winning ways. It's almost impossible not to love me. I laugh. I'd better remember to tell that to Ms Munroe if I survive this. "You know, if I'm going to be in here much longer it would be nice if I could have something to do, you know, t.v or maybe a book to read. Something to pass the time." I beam at her, displaying hopeless puppy-dog devotion.

From the look on her face I'm kind of expecting a boot in the face, but you can never be certain with this one, after all, she doesn't wear boots. I'm doing well, though; in a situation like this my general plan is to wind them up and then just wait for them to make a mistake. You have to know your own character strengths, and mine is annoying people. Some people might see it as a weakness, but I feel these things are what you make of them.

"I wasn't under the impression you were able to read," she say. Unfortunately she sounds like she's still too calm. Damn it all. I open my eyes wide and try to look serious.

"Picture books'd be best," I acknowledge, "but I can always practice sounding out. Do you have a bathroom in this place or is your skin all scaly because there's nowhere to wash?"

She tips her head on one side and sneers at me. It's as if she can see straight through my game. To be fair, she probably can. With icy calm she reaches out and grabs me by the hair. She yanks on it to bring me to my feet and then guides me tenderly out of the room. I can't help but smile. Okay, she hasn't made a mistake, yet, but I'm still breathing, and I'm getting my own way after all.

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Kitty Pryde is standing in front of Cerebro, eyes still clouded with sleep. "So, you want me to open this up?" she asks again.

"Yes, please," Jean says, anxiously twisting her fingers together.

"You think I can just crack into the system and open this thing up?" Kitty asks, allowing a note of incredulity to enter her voice.

"No, I know you can just crack into the system and open this thing up," said Jean patiently. "So, I would like you to do that for me, now, please." Kitty looked at Jean in surprise.

"You _know _I can do that?" she asked, wondering just exactly how much Jean did know.

"Oh for goodness sake, Kitty, I'm psychic. Just because I know you've done this before, doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to rat on you. It was a good prank. It was funny and harmless. Now will you just do your thing and open the door. Please."

"Oh, okay then," the girl turned and hurried off to the control centre to do her thing and open the door.

"It was Kitty?" asked Ororo Munroe, astonished.

"Yes, but it really was a good prank."

"Everyone thought it was you, you know?"

Jean smiled. It was a good, prank, not one she would have come up with, or been able to carry out, but a good prank nonetheless. Sometimes it's nice to have the credit for rule breaking, even if it doesn't come naturally to you.

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My mum stands in front of the large machine humming to herself. Mystique all but throws me to the ground in front of her hissing something in what I believe to be German. Shame I'm rubbish at languages. My mum replies laughing and peers down at me. Mystique rests the gun on the back of my head and I make a supreme effort to ignore the fact that certain death is mere inches away and instead smile idiotically up at my mum.

"Mummy," I say, "I missed you so much!" She smiles down at me, a tight angry smile. Maybe she'll be an easier target than Mystique.

"Leibchen, you were disturbing the boys with your banging," she says, her voice is tight too, like she doesn't want to admit less than total control of the situation. "I must ask you to stop it."

"Oh," I say, eyes wide, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb them," much, you psycho bitch. "I just wanted to use the bathroom, maybe get something to eat?" My eyes are wide and innocent. Keeping up appearances is so important. I'm irritating, but not_ intentionally_ it's _accidental_, and I'm even aware of it. Honest.

"Mystique will take you," she says, dismissing us with a wave of her hand.


	83. Concerning the contemplation of mad cows

"Okay, here goes," Jean said slipping the metal headset in place and closing her eyes.

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"She hardly seems dangerous," Magneto says to his lover, watching the girl and her escort departing.

"And yet she is," Lorelei replies. "The most dangerous of my children by far. She will do very nicely for the apex."

"You are willing to trust Mystique until then?" he asks.

"Oh, yes," Lorelei is laughing now. "She and my wayward daughter have quite the little history. Some fight over a pimp, I believe. Nothing untoward for our plans, my love, providing Mystique doesn't get _too_ cross with my darling daughter." Magneto nods.

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"Raven Darkholm," Jean mutters, trying to focus on the mind behind the name, trying to reach out and touch the woman who might know where the missing people are.

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Toilet, sink, mirror, tiny window and Mystique standing in the corner holding a gun on me. "You really want to watch me piss?" I ask.

She curls her lip. "I'd be happy never to see you alive at all," she tells me. Her skin crawls in that disconcerting way and then Pete Wisdom is standing before me. "Just get on with it Missy," she tells me, using his voice. It causes my breath to catch with shock. She's good. Better than she used to be. She used to find guys harder.

"Am I going to break a wall down and escape?" I ask, faking incredulity. "Or squeeze through a eight centimetre gap? Come on, give me a break here." In truth, though, we both know she'd be an idiot to let me out of her sight in here but it's still worth a go, you never can tell when people are going to drop the ball. Plus I feel it's important to hang on to the Pollyanna approach in situations like these, why pass up an opportunity. If nothing else, I bet Pollyanna would annoy the hell out of Mystique... She won't go, however, because in here, there is a mirror and that, my friends, is a weapon in the hands of the desperate. As is the little window lock. This place is a whole nest of opportunity compared to my furnishedly challenged room down the hall. I wait long enough that it's clear it's an impasse, then roll my eyes in mock exasperation.

When I'm done she's got Scott Summers holding a gun on me, a look of disgust furrowing his beautiful face. I glare at her. I know I shouldn't let her know she's hit a nerve, but there you are. I'm not exactly at my best. "Love the specs," I tell her. "Can you take them off, or are they attached?"

I fill the sink with cold water and splash it over my face and hands, then rinse my contacts in hopes of making them a little more less blurry. Finally I turn the tap back on and drink hungrily.

"Enough," she growls, Logan. Interesting.

"Feeling a little schizophrenic today?" I ask her solicitously. I'm hoping she'll make a mistake, take a step forward, but I should know better. She shifts back to herself in that disconcerting way and smiles at me.

"A little," she tells me sweetly. "You see I want to shoot you in the knee, but I don't want to annoy your mother."

"You think that would annoy her?" my voice involuntarily scales up at the end of the sentence.

"Oh, yes, it might interfere with her plans," she explains. "And she has promised you to me if you survive tonight."

"Well that's something to look forward to then," I reply consolingly. I hope, whatever it is, it kills me. I do not want to be handed over to this mad cow. As if she can read my thoughts her smile broadens. She motions with the gun, back towards the door and I comply on legs that have turned to jelly. Why must I always be surrounded by insane women? I think of the lovely Ms Grey and wonder how her insanity manifests itself. Maybe she isn't homicidal, you never know, there must be someone out there who isn't, after all, just by the law of large numbers.

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"Okay, I've got it," says the lovely Ms Grey whipping off the headset and grinning broadly. It's so nice to be liked. "There's an abandoned factory about ninety miles north."

"We'll take the blackbird," replies Storm.

"What about the kids?"

"Scott's still here, the Professor is still here, Kurt's still here, they'll be in capable hands."

"Kurt can't get out of bed!" Jean says almost wailing.

Storm stares at her for a long moment, the look she reserves for those who are about to incur a detention. "Well what do you suggest?" she asked.

Jean looked agonised for a long moment. There's a reason why Scott's the leader, she wanted to say. I'm not the leader type.

"Don't worry," Scott said, stepping from behind the door. "I've got a plan."

Okay, I know it's late, and it might well be crap, but please review. I've had a crap week and it would really cheer me up - even if you tell me it's crap, that's all useful, providing you tell me WHY it's crap... Anyway, please?


	84. Concerning bad guys and use of acronyms

"It's simple really," Scott said, smiling. "We'll get Michael to help baby-sit the kids and I'll come and help you guys. That way it won't matter that Kurt's incapacitated, there's still and decent ratio of adults to kids."

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"So what is this thing?" I ask, patting the side of the machine as we pass it. Remy is wielding a spanner, or screwdriver or something inside an opened panel and he glances down at me at the sound, interesting.

"A Mutation Enhancement Modulator," she tells me. You can tell she's expecting a 'what's that?' style response.

"Oh, I see," I say, instead. You grow up with teenage boys, you learn how to bullshit. "Very clever. I'm guessing it's not working, yet." Her eyes narrow in annoyance. I tap my nail on the smooth outer shell. Again, Remy looks over, and this time I see McCoy and Summers Part Two following the line of his glance, very interesting. Careful Jay, mustn't interrupt the boys too much. "So you got an acronym?" I ask, to distract her, moving away. "MEM, is it? Or the MutMod? Something like that."

She looks at me as if I'm mad, but I saw just the edge of a smile touching LeBeau's mouth. Not quite so vacant then. Interesting. "Come on, you've gotta have a cool acronym, otherwise how are people going to know you are the big mutant bad guys?" I ask.

"Wanting safety for our kind makes us bad guys?" she asks with a hint of incredulity in her voice. "You are such a Non." She makes as if to spit.

"Not so much the safety thing, I get the safety thing, it's the sacrificing of those who get in your way I'm less enamoured of," I explain.

"You," she asks. "You who have killed without remorse, you lecture me on this."

Without remorse my arse. "That's true, you have a point," I say instead, "but then I'm not claiming not to be the bad guys." The look of contempt she gives me warms my heart. I really do hate this woman. Some of things she's been involved in would turn your stomach. I mean, okay, so some of the things I've been involved in might turn your stomach too, but I'm not into self-immolation so there seems little value in dwelling on those. _You _can go ahead and hate me all you like (and _she_ certainly avails herself of this privilege)but _I'm _not going to hate myself. For one thing, it's too much like effort.

We are back to my room, I step across the threshold and smile my disarming smile. The door slams shut in my face, guess the smile was less disarming than I thought.

"WHAT?" I shout through the wood. "NO CAKE?"

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"Look, I've never had a bad word to say about my mum before, but I really think you should leave this one to the ladies" says Mick Jacobson calmly. He, himself, was a natural leader and could therefore understand Scott's yearning to be in charge.

"They are going to need more than two people to run this," Scott says. The four of them are standing together regarding the landscape surrounding the factory that has been conjured onto the table in front of them.

"You're right," Mick agreed. "Ideally you need a minimum of six operatives, and even then you're short on cover."

"We are quite competent, Mr Jacobson, and we are used to running operations using considerably smaller teams than you would be used to," Ororo Munroe murmurs laconically.

"I'm sure you are, Ms Munroe and in point of fact it's Commander Jacobson but please call me Mick," Mick smiled at her, friendly-like. "Although, I think you might be surprised by the manning of some government operations. Look, even if Jay's in there, and free to help, there'll be at least five of your team in there. If I'm any judge they'll fight tooth and nail against you. On top of that, there'll be whatever team my mum had previously organised, plus, at least one, if not two of my brothers. A conservative estimate brings us to at least ten. Okay, with luck you might have the element of surprise, but trying this without sufficient manpower is tantamount to suicide."

"Exactly," said Scott triumphantly.

"Which isn't to say you should come," said Jean, "in fact I distinctly heard Commander Jacobson say that you should leave it to us."

Scott rolled his eyes, but probably only Jean noticed.


	85. Reflections on Christmas presents

There is no response from the other side of the door. It's not like I expected one, but I do want some food. And something to do. I'm really tempted to bang on the door again, but I have a distinct feeling that that would end with me tied up in a corner so I can't move at all. Here, I might be locked in a room with no visible means of escape, but at least I'm mobile. Small mercy. I sit down with my back to the wall and consider my options. Since there aren't any this doesn't take long. Then I think about what I want for Christmas, because everyone has to be thinking about something.

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"So the Professor says that she can control the minds of men," Jean asked, slightly shocked by Mick's revelation.

"Well I it cerntainly explains why she never had control over Jay when we were kids," Mick replied. He seemed thoughtful and slightly sad, but Jean noticed that he wasn't projecting his thoughts like his sister. She made the effort not to pry.

"I guess that's why you think I shouldn't go," Scott stated, cheerfully. "But you're reckoning without Jean. She's the second most powerful telepath in the world and I'm sure she'll be able…"

"I think the Professor tried," Jean said softly, cutting him off. "He didn't want me to use Cerebro to find the rest of the staff. I think she'd gotten to him, I can't think why else he was behaving the way he was."

"What? What was he doing?" Scott asked, stunned.

"It was weird Scott, he was… I don't know.. sort of disconnected. He said it was inconsiderate of the others to go off unannounced, but he didn't seem upset by it."

Storm nodded. "It's true." And they explained their earlier encounter with the Professor. Scott was gob-smacked but Mick took the news more philosophically.

"I'm just not sure, I don't know if it's even possible to break whatever spell she casts on people," said Mick, shrugging. "Thinking about it now, I don't suppose I've ever seen any man get within, maybe, fifty feet of her and escape it. Christ." He shook his head at his own blindness. He felt very old, in that moment. He had always felt like he was in control, part of the armour plating, protecting his family and the world from trouble; yet here he was, not only unable to help currently but also seeing, for the first time in sharp relief, how little he had been able to do in the past.

"Dan did," said Jean. They all turned to stare at her. She shrugged her shoulders a little helplessly. The gesture exasperated Storm – how could the women be so helpless and yet so frighteningly powerful?

"Dan did, in Cardiff, apparently," Jean continued, looking slightly mystified herself. "I don't know any more than that," Mick smiled at her reassuringly. He was used to confused witnesses and it was important to be able to put them at their ease. "Sorry, that's not very helpful is it?" she added. Scott put his arm around her in the same spirit of reassurance as Mick was manifesting. But he couldn't help the puppy dog light of hope appearing on his face at the same time.

"If he can escape it, I can't see any reason why I wouldn't be able to," he said. "It's worth trying anyway. You can't do this with just two people"

Mick couldn't help it. He buried his head in his hands and started, silently, to laugh. For a moment the X-men froze, uncertain whether he was laughing or weeping. Then they realised. "What?" Scott asked.

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A room of ones own. I mean really I shouldn't complain, and I should just try and relax, do some deep breathing, plan a lesson or two. Be in the zone, waiting for an opportunity, ready to spring into action at a moments notice. Trouble with that is, I've never been much of one for the zone. It's boring there. I need stimulation or I start to go a little loopy. That the people who shut me in here almost certainly know this about me, is very cold comfort. My ex-German teacher, my mum, my brother and a… Well it's hard to sum up what Mystique is to me. A rival? An ex-colleague? Imagine introducing her like that. "Yes, this is my colleague Mystique who I used to work West Street with when I was working for Winston's." Mick'd throw a fit. Hee hee, It might almost be worth doing – if I get out.


	86. Debating the merits of a cup as a hat

Bored-bored-bored. This is like sensory deprivation. If there was a window I could look out of it. If there was a… well anything. All I have is a plastic cup, which still smells faintly of red bush rubbish. Hard to fashion a weapon out of a dirty plastic cup. If I had a lighter I could melt it and maybe make a point, but as it stands it's not much use to me. BORED!

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"Have you spoken to the Professor about this?" Kitty asked staring in amazement at the three teachers and one ex-prisoner. She wasn't reassured by the fact that they exchange uncomfortable glances.

"Look, we've been looking through the tapes of the team games," Scott explained, "and we've selected you three for this special assignment because we feel you are ready to be involved in the X-men."

"This is, like, way cool, what's the plan?" asked Jubilee rubbing her hands together and causing and cascade of sparks to shoot from her hands. Jean looked nervously at Scott. _Are you really sure about this?_ She asked. He gave her the don't worry about it smile that melted her heart every time, even if it didn't stop her worrying.

"This is not a game, Jubilation, we are going to be attacking Magneto's headquarters," Storm interjected sternly.

"Sure, I get that and I'm happy to help," replied Jubilee giving her patented teacher-proof grin.

"Wayell, Ah'm mo' thahn hahppy tuh heyelp y'all too, buht ah thi-yunk way shuhd know exacktly whut wayall're geyttin' into baifo' way go muhch furthah," Rogue put in. She wasn't very reassured by the fact that the three teachers and one ex-prisoner all stared at her for a moment as if trying to figure out what language she was speaking.

"Rogue's absolutely right," Scott said, after a beat. He noticed with some satisfaction that Commander Jacobson was still looking confused. He was still smarting from having been laughed at and it was nice to know he could understand Rogue better than the Englishman. "We should give you ladies a run down of exactly what you are getting in to before we ask you to take it on. After all, it's going to be a risky business and we need to make sure you are going into this with both eyes open." He realised what he'd said was stupid even as it was coming out of his mouth. He silently thanked whatever God happened to be listening that Logan wasn't present. It didn't stop the three girls exchanging a glance with each other and then smiling down at their feet though. One-eye was telling them to keep both eyes open. That was, like, so, going round the school like wildfire. It was written all over Jubilee's face. Inside, Scott groaned.

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There's no-one to talk to. There's nothing to do. It's quiet… too quiet. If I had a hat I could pretend to be a cowboy. In fact, come to think of it maybe I can use that cup as a hat.

Told you I go a little loopy when it's too quiet.

Of course, being a teacher there isn't usually much time to get bored in. Something's bound to be kicking off or someone will be needing help. Just occasionally you get that awful quiet stillness in the classroom. Just once in a while you teach those awful cursed lessons where suddenly everyone knows what they are doing, and how to do it. They are all on task. No-one is getting poked with a pencil because the little bastards are all engaged… Observers often think that these must be the good lessons, personally, at moments like these I have been known to wail; "Well what am I supposed to do then?"

One of my more sarcastic kids responded to this wail with: "Sit down quietly, Miss and stop disturbing us. Maybe you could draw a nice picture." I like to think I was a good influence on that kid. Anyway, my point is that, fortunately, these moments are few and far between in teaching. UNLIKE NOW WHEN THEY ARE BLOODY RELENTLESS.

Did I mention the fact that I was bored?


	87. A discourse on whose fault is it anyway?

"Buckle up," says Storm as she engages the Blackbird's engines. The three girls in the back do as they are told. They are armed to the teeth with various gizmos and gadgets, many designed in Remy and Scott's shop class. Jubilee is still grinning. A mission. Her very first real mission. And it was girls only. How cool was that? Bobby and John were going to be sick over this one, she couldn't wait to tell them. Man, she was gonna lord it over them for weeks.

"I knew it was a bad idea to hire that woman," mutters Kitty from next to her. Jubilee looks over at her friend as if she was nuts.

"Are you, like, kidding me? You think we'd ever have gotten onto this plane if this hadn't of happened. This is way too cool," she said.

"Practically all our teachers have been kidnapped, and are probably going to try and kill us," Kitty returned sourly, "and it's all her fault. Only you could think that was cool."

"Oh c'm ohn, Kitty," Rogue put in. "Iyt's noht Jay's fawlt thisall hays hyappened. Y'all 're juhst mad 'cause of thayt tennis lesson."

"Well, it doesn't help that she can't teach," said Kitty indignantly, "but I still think she's responsible for this. She's endangering the lives of her students by dragging us into this."

Jean turned to look at the girls over her shoulder. "Actually, Kitty, it's us that are doing that, by asking you to be here. And Ororo and I both know that this is far from being ideal, but it was the only solution we could come up with on this short notice so it's what we're stuck with," she told the sulky teen. "Of course if you'd prefer not to be involved we will understand," she paused for a moment, waiting as the late-night early-morning sky lowers to meet them. The blackbird rises slowly and gracefully out of the pulled back basketball court. "There's still time, Kitty, you can wait in the plane."

_She has a point, though,_ Storm is thinking. Jean shuts this thought off. She's not going to get involved in defending Amanda to her team-mates.

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I jerk back to myself, from my involuntary schemes about improving my tennis lessons and setting up a remedial reading program and kissing... well that's none of your business, to find a buzzing feeling stretching from my shoulder to my fingertips. It's a familiar feeling and I know exactly what it means. I've been sitting still for too long. Exactly three hours too long. The last time I felt this, I was up a tree doing surveillance on a property belonging to an anti-mutant group called the Human Front. The Human Front were a penny-ante group of whackos, who wanted mutants to be detained in a separate area from humans, basically reintroducing the idea of a walled ghetto. Freaks.

I know what I'll see, but I look anyway. The mangled ends of my fingers have turned a purplish colour and there is a mottled look to the skin on my arm. In the dim light the stubs of my fingers look sort of charred. The blood supply got squashed in the crash and the nerves controlling the arm are kind of _sensitive_. Tentatively I imagine moving the fingers of my right hand and feel the usual spasm of pain from doing so. If there were other people around I'd be brave and stoical about it, not showing my pain. Since I'm all alone I let out an embarrassing little whimpering sob. Pathetic. I flex my fingers again, a bare millimetre of movement and a second burning jolt runs the length of my arm. This time I simply wince. "Normal service will be resumed shortly," I tell my hand, although actually this can take anything up to two hours to settle. "It's going to be a bri-ight, bri-ight, bright, bright sun shiny day," I sing to myself as I lower myself into a horizontal position to encourage blood flow in my arm.

Oh well, at least now I have something to do.


	88. Featuring concern about study leave

I'm lying on my back near the far wall, alternating the minute movement of my right arm with the creation of shadow puppets with my left. I also hum, because I've found that a multi-sensory approach to pretending pain doesn't exist, is the most effective one. Visual, auditory and kinaesthetic – that's what my teaching text books want to call it. Or VAK if you truly want to join the dark side. Personally I think it's a crock of shit term that they invented to try and mystify the uninitiated. Teaching as a cult. It makes me smile and miss a note in the middle of my humming.

I can move my thumb almost entirely without pain, and my elbow only hurts when I actually move it, rather than when I even think about moving it, when the door opens. Guess who, with a gun, naturally enough. Behind her are two of Magneto's goons; a big blond with shoulder length hair and a little greenish guy. I'd go back to trying to annoy them but now there is someone else in the room with me I have to spend all my energy trying to pretend I'm fine and not in screaming agony.

"On your feet, Missy," she snarls at me. I guess it's been a stressful day for her, poor dear thing. I turn my face away from her so she can't see the effort it costs me to push myself up the wall.

"Now turn and put your hands on the wall," she says. I know what she wants, I'm not sure if I'm able to do it. I turn and face the wall and put my left hand on it. I try to lift my right arm at the shoulder and the pain rockets through me like fiery ice. I don't know how else to describe it. I can't help it, I make a small pained sound.

"I said put you hands on the wall," she says, "not _a_ hand on the wall."

"My shoudler's seized," I confess. "I can't lift my arm." There is a pause while she considers.

"Keep the hand where I can see it. If it moves I'll shoot you," she tells me.

"Where?" I ask but she doesn't want to play.

"Cuff her," she snaps and my arm is dragged painfully behind me.

That doesn't count as moving it, right? I think, as my hand moves behind me. Unfortunately, because I'm gasping in agony I don't get the pleasure of saying it. Probably a good job, she might use it as an excuse to shoot me, and knowing her she'd do it through the knee, just so I could have a whole new area of pain to worry about.

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Jean stares down at her hands on the gear stick of the blackbird. A sort of muted but nevertheless searing pain just shot down her arm and into her fingertips. "Ow," she says softly wiggling her fingers. Storm glances over at her, a question on her face.

Jean shakes her head. "It's nothing. How far do we have to go?"

"Another 40 miles."

"How long until we land?"

"Maybe ten minutes, then it'll be at least another twenty on foot. What's up Jean?"

Jean shook her head again. "Nothing, I just want to get this done. I don't want to miss my biology class at ten."

"I'm trying to imagine who could possibly cover it," Storm smiled.

Jean smiled back. "Scott'll be trying to cover _everything._ He'll be going nuts. He's probably trying to figure out how to be in four places at once even as we speak."

"Any normal person would give the kids a study day..." Storm started.

"...shame he's not a normal person," they finished together and laughed.

"Hey, is everyone else getting, like, a study day?" Jubilee asked from behind them. "Because I think we shoulda been, like, told that before we left. What kind of time off do we, like, get for doing you this favour? And by the way, is there a, you know, bathroom, on this thing?"

Both teachers glanced at each other and stifled a groan.

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So the deal is, I'm almost finished with the story and providing each chapter gets one review I will post the new one the moment it is finished, rather than doing it weekly. I'm also taking the synopsis off until I AM finished and then I'll stick it back up when the whole thing is over - just for the sake of completness. Please review. If you think it's gotten rubbish you could at least tell me so I can try and fix it... Although actually I should just thank you for reading at all. Thank you, postgate.


	89. Revealing a secret plot to make wrinkles

"So I guess the nefarious plot is nearing completion?" I ask, as I am once again walked onto the factory floor. The blond guy allows himself an assenting grunt that shows as much annoyance as agreement.

"What's up with him?" I ask Mystique, sotto voce. "Women trouble?" She rolls her eyes at me. "Oh, I see," I say as if comprehension were dawning. "Trouble in paradise. I'm sorry. Hey, if either of you ever need anyone to talk to… you know, sounding board, shoulder to cry on, I'm always available," I offer. The green guy smirks at the idea.

"Shut up," Mystique says, dead pan. It's unclear whether she's talking to me or him.

"Oh come on, lighten up," I say, "what's with all the tension anyway? I mean you still haven't done the whole presto revealo part of the plan yet. You've got to tell me what the plan is, before you kill me, you know. Them's the rules. Super hero bad guys always reveal their machinations of wicked genius just before murdering the mortal innocents."

"Shut up." she says. We are approaching my mum, who is standing on a raised metal platform in front of the machine. She is humming happily to herself, but turns as she hears our approach.

She smiles down at us as a group. "Everything is nearing completion," she remarks cheerfully.

"How simply charming," I say. "Anything I can do to be of assistance?" She looks at me in surprise. It's almost as if she were an exterminator and I was a tap-dancing cockroach. A peculiar thing, but ultimately squishable.

"Is there some kind of problem, Amanda?" she asks me, as if this seems entirely incomprehensible.

"What on earth gave you that impression?" I ask sarcastically. She looks over my head at Mystique as if somewhat puzzled by my antagonistic tone of voice.

"Mystique, what is the difficulty?" she asks calmly.

"She seems to think," and I'm pleased to note Mystiques tone of voice is almost exactly similar to my own. Resentful teenager talking to irritating adult, "that the bad guys are supposed to reveal their secret plots before murdering any innocent mortals."

"Murder," my mum's face goes all wide-eyed with shocked innocence herself. "Who said anything about murder. It's possible there may be an industrial accident during the trial of a new machine but no-one could possibly call it murder. There can be no scientific progress without sacrifice, you know," she tells me. "But murder, what a terrible thing to say."

"So you aren't planning to kill me?" I ask and hope springs in my breast as shocked incredulity registers all over my face.

"Oh no," she says. "I mean there _is_ a _possibility_ that you might die. But we certainly aren't _trying _to kill you."

I can only think part of the plan is to try and give me wrinkles. Shock equals raised eyebrows, equals wrinkles. Anger equals furrowed brow, equals wrinkles. Incomprehension equals narrowed eyes, equals wrinkles. There you have it. The nefarious scheme is to give me wrinkles. Here's hoping that's the worst of it.


	90. Landing in an lake an error?

"Oh come on you have to be kidding me," says Kitty surveying the bleak, pre-dawn landscape through the door of the blackbird. The end of the ramp disappeared into a pool of brown water that entirely covered the surface of the field in which they landed. "Of all the places in all the world, you could have put down, you decided to land in a lake?"

"It's a puddle, Kitty," Ororo says tiredly, coming up behind her. "Not a lake. It is also the closest piece of flat land that was available to us. Or would you have preferred me to land in a tree."

"Sheesh," Jubilee says rolling her eyes. "No need to get all, like, huffy, 'Ro. And you gotta admit it's, you know, a pretty big puddle going on down there."

"It's Ms Munroe, Jubilee. Right up until graduation you will call me Ms Munroe," Ororo states calmly and she follows Jean down the ramp into the puddle. Kitty watches them go and resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Jean, wait up, you're going the wrong way," Ororo says softly when she catches Jean. She hadn't meant to be overheard, but Kitty Pryde is always alert for signs of weakness in the older generation.

"What? No I'm sure-" Jean looks distractedly at her. Ororo has to admit that as the crow flies Jean is right. This is the shortest distance. Which would work for Kitty since obstacles are, as it were, no object.

"But only if you want to climb over two barbed wire fences and cross a river by wading," Ororo explains. "This way there's a path and a bridge."

"Oh," says Jean and abruptly turns. "Good point."

"Right ladies, you heard the woman, let's get going," Ororo calls to the three girls still standing on the ramp of the blackbird.

Jubilee nudged Rogue in the ribs. "Did you, like, actually hear, you know, Ms Gray say anything?" she asks.

"Ah the-yunk iyt wers wun of those figyures of spee-yuch, Jubes," Rogue replied. "Dang. Ah hay-yet gyettin' mah fee-yut wet."

Kitty had nothing to add to this exchange. Those two could be so immature at times. She set off at a jog after Ororo and Jean.

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"Surely you have had ample opportunity to work out the plans?" my mum asks looking down at me as if amazed by my obtuseness. "I'm sure I heard Mystique telling you the name of the machine?"

"The Mutation Enhancement Modulator," I say, as if I hadn't though about it at all before. "Sounds like another mutant making machine to me."

"And to think she works in a school," Herr Lensherr says, appearing at my mum's left shoulder. "I worry, I really do, about the state of our education system. That we could be training teachers totally lacking in the ability to think about the utilisation of words; it boggles the mind. And, once they are trained, that these same teachers are able to find employment… worrying, it is really most worrying. And my dear old friend Xavier is reduced to hiring them. Well it's just sad for the children educated under such a regime."

At the sound of his voice my mum had turned to him, smiling up into his face. He leans down now and kisses her. It's like a car crash. I can't look away. She moves closer, pressing her body against his. The kiss deepens, his hands slide round her waist. I'm thinking about throwing up. He leans forward. Maybe I can poke my eyes out…

"Oh GROSS," I say involuntary. A large and slightly furry hand covers my eyes, blocking any more of this vileness from reaching me. "Oh Thank GOD!" I exclaim in relief. "I appreciate it. I really do. You are a true gentleman."

"You're welcome," growls the blond man's voice in my ear.

"You've no idea," I say into the comforting blackness. "Really. Thank you. I didn't catch your name." At which point Mystique pokes me in the arm, causing me to shut up and concentrate on other things.


	91. Concerning the musical taste of a teen

"Ah," Jean lets out a whisper of pain as she jogs onwards. Ororo slides her a strange look but they don't exchange words. They are conserving their energy for the run. Dr Jean Gray may be, as Ms Jacobson ascertained that morning, a PE sufferer, but she has suffered it long enough to be able to push her body into a five mile run. The girls are doing well behind, but it's clear Rogue is finding it harder than the others. The trouble with curves, Jean thinks as they dodge through the gates and out onto the road.

The surface is rubbish, ruts and roots coated in sticky mud, and they are running without light. Jean reaches out her mind again, ignoring the babble coming as a constant stream from Amanda. Where are the others? She could feel the minds, almost familiar but masked somehow. Filled with a strange, alien, music that was somehow filling, and controlling, them.

"Wait," she calls and the five women, or two women and three girls, depending on your point of view, paused in their running and came to crouch in a rough circle. "Have any of you girls got a stereo on you?" Jean asked. Rogue shook her head, trying to control her breathing.

"I brought my iPod, like, for the, you know, flight and that," Jubilee said. Of the five she seemed least effected by their running.

"You've got it here," Jean checked, "you didn't leave it on the blackbird?"

"Yeah, you know, I thought if we were going to be, like, running. The batteries going a bit though," she added as an after thought.

"Okay, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Jean said, her mind whirring with recharging options in a woodland environment. "Have you got any heavy metal on here?" she asked. "Anything Logan might listen to?" 

"Do I look like a metaller?" Jubilee asked as if insulted. "Have you seen his music collection?"

"What about show tunes?" she asked, "anything like that?" Jubilee looked at her as if she had just grown a second head.

"Ah be-ayut shay hays Dr Gray. She juhst du-sun't wahnt to ad-mit it. Let may look at it Jubes. Ah know they-ir musi-cal tays-tes prutty gyood. You remaymber thayt article I diyd for the schyool magya-zine on my-sic clayques. Thayt hayd a whole say-ction on stayff say.day. collay-ctions." There was a snicker in the darkness as they remembered some of the more unlikely revelations. N Sync and the Pussy Cat Dolls. Who would have thought it?

Jubilee rolled her eyes at her friend. "Fine," she said handing it over, "but like, if you, ever, tell anyone what's on it I'll be, like, revenged. Know what I mean?"


	92. Explaining an inability to learn German

The hand is removed and light comes flooding back in on me. Herr Lensherr is, if anything, looking even more smugly self-satisfied than he was before. I can see already that he is about to go into teacher mode. "Now listen carefully, Amanda, it is of great importance that you should understand our plans. It is vital that you understand the value and potential influence of this device. It must not come to any kind of harm. It was extremely difficult to build."

"Okay," I say. "Presto revealo," I mutter to Mystique, who shakes her head.

"Consider, if you will, the name of the machine," he says.

"Is this because I wouldn't do homework and blackmailed you about screwing that bitch?" I ask him gesturing towards my mum. "Is that why you aren't going to just tell me? Is that why this has to turn into some protracted and ridiculous guessing game where I say is it this and you go no for two hours before you kill me? Because, for real, I'm kind of tired and you could just get on with it. I don't mind."

"This, Amanda, is about striving for a greater and more abiding comprehension than the merely superficial," he tells me sententiously. "It is about pushing the boundaries of your reasoning to a point where some compassion will at last become plausible. It is about, as all good teaching should be, a deeper level of..." oh my God. No wonder I never learned any bloody German! It's like being back with Ms Munroe. Any second now this guy is going to ask me where the striving for abiding comprehension and compassion are identified on my termly planning.

"You fo' real wanna be dissin' my teachin'?" I interrupt laughing at him. I think it's his overwhelming use of the long words that, for some reason, brings on this ghetto moment. I hope you will bear with me. "Man, you serious gonna be dissin' ma teachin' dough? You gonna do dat an' I bin in yo' class. And fo' real Ah sin yo' effort man? Dissin' MAH teachin', dat's jus' funny!" I'm not saying it was authentic or even faintly realistic, but it certainly shuts him up, which has got to come as a profound relief to everyone, right? I mean no-one actually wanted to listen to the old guy pontificating did they?

He gives me a look of irritation, or at least it looks like irritation, but I know that expression, I've _used_ that expression. You try and look annoyed to try and cover the fact that you know the kid's got a point and you're embarrassed. HA! In your face, sir. "Consider the name," he raps out. Covering. I've got you just where I want you. Well okay, I'm the one weqaring the handcuffs, so maybe not _just _where I want you, but hey I'm annoying him and that's positive, right?

"Mutation Enhancement Modulator," I say again. "I guess the key word is enhancement, then. So it doesn't actually create a mutation in a non, it merely enhances the powers already present within a mutant."

"And indeed it may also be used to modulate those powers," he nods as if pleased with me. "A process that was easy to test and had quite startling effects upon your youngest brother."

"Ollie?" I say. "What?"

"Yes, young Oliver has been provided with control," he tells me. "No longer will he find his mutation manifesting in stressful situations. It manifests on demand." My eyes widen and my mouth spreads into a grin. Because how could it not. I mean, okay, they still might be going to kill me but my brother might finally be able to get a job and start living his life.

"That's amazing," I say. "That's fantastic. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. But why were you hiding it? You could have had government sponsorship. This needs to be made available. Think of the thousands of children who it could help. All those kids whose mutations manifest suddenly and uncontrollably! They could have a whole new future! It's…" I had to stop there because the wind was knocked out of me. This was as a result of Mystique's fist introducing itself at speed into my stomach. As I coughed and wheezed, trying to get my lungs re-inflated and my stomach back under control she leaned down to me.

Through the clanging of bells in my ears I hear her hiss, "As if this invention could ever be put in the hands of nons. Imagine what they would do with it."

Through the tears that sprang involuntarily to my eyes I could see her point. Even governments' whose stance is largely pro mutant-rights have a long way to go in the stakes of compassion and understanding. They wouldn't understand that a machine like this shouldn't be used on every mutant under the sun. That it should only be used by consenting adults, past the age of majority. They certainly wouldn't be competent enough to keep the records of use confidential. It's a fuck of a world we live in.

Still I think thumping me is a little extreme. I mean, it's not that she couldn't have argued me round without the fist.


	93. Featuring the plan part two

Jean stopped so suddenly that Rogue all but careened into the back of her. She doubled over gasping, but also curiously, seeming to laugh. "Ms Muhn-roe," Rogue called softly. Her geography teacher paused, and looked, then circled round to join them.

"Dr Gray, Dr Gray sugah, you ahl-righ'?" Rogue asked quietly concerned, steadying the woman.

"Yes. One minute," the woman gasped.

"Stay with her," Ms Munroe ordered in a whisper. "Jubilation, with me, thank you." She and Jubilee disappeared forward, presumably scouting. They were close to second set of gates and Rogue was keenly aware of the rising levels of tension within the group. Kitty had seated herself nearby and was gazing at her hands.

"Kitty can you think of a way of recharging these batteries?" Dr Gray asked after a while in a low voice. "I have a feeling this iPod may be critical to our success."

"I'll think about it," Kitty replied, but Rogue knew Kitty had been thinking about it ever since Dr Gray had first expressed an interest. Ever since Jube's had said the battery was going. It was Kitty's thing, electronics. She wouldn't have been able _not_ to think about it. "I'll need to look at it though," Kitty added as if highly unconcerned about the whole thing.

"Rogue, can you pass it over?" Dr Gray asked her. "Are you done with it?"

"Sure," Rogue replied and tossed it over to her friend. "Ah'm naht sure buht Ah thi-yunk Ah've fa-yound surmthang fo' ahll thuh gauys. Ah dohn't know Ms Jay-cub-son's tayste in myusihc yet though." She didn't ask, even though she was wondering, what her teacher wanted this information for. Despite everything she had been through she knew she was an exceptionally trusting individual. She didn't feel the need to ask questions, relying on her comrades to share information as, and when, they saw fit.

"There's some kind of music controlling the guys," Dr Gray said in an undertone, proving Rogue right. "I need to find a way to interfere with it. I'm hoping if I project the right sound it may work."

"Sahnds liyke thayt'd bay praytty turff," Rogue pointed out. "Whuld it work throh spaykers or surmthang?"

"Tell me you've got some on you and we can try it," Dr Gray joked.

Rogue treated her to the dazzling smile. "Maybay not thehn," she replied. "Hey look, Ms Muhn-roe's bayck."

"Okay, there's a cordon sannitairre running from just inside the gates to both the entrances. Two hundred yards, easy and no cover of any kind. If there's someone watching they _will_ see us," Ms Munroe murmured. "So far as I could tell there was only one guard in the gatehouse, and he's a non. Think we can get past him pretty easy. I don't know who's out there aside from him. We may be dealing with our guys though and we need to be prepared for that. Jean, can you give us anything on who might be where?"

"Logan and Hank are outside," Jean said her eyes seeming to look at something the others couldn't see. "Warren's in the air. There are three more nons around outside. They have dogs and guns. Inside; Alex, Remy, Magneto, Mystique, Sabretooth, Toad, the two brothers, the mother and the girl." She blinked and her eyes re-focussed on Ms Munroe's face. "We're really up against it, 'Ro. I'm not sure how this can work. I need to know what to do. I need to be able to get around this woman's power or we'll never make it." Rogue felt a chill running down her spine. This sounded bad.

"Okay, give me a minute," Ms Munroe said, brow furrowing in thought. "Tell me about the music?" she asked after a moment. Dr Gray did so. Ms Munroe nodded. "Okay that's important. What else?"

"There's a machine in there. It's important. Whatever we do we've got to try and preserve it. Get any plans we can lay our hands on. It's… well I'm not entirely sure, but it's important," Dr Gray said. Ms Munroe nodded.

"Okay. Here's the plan - part two."


	94. Concerning questions of fatherhood

When I'm back upright and breathing relatively normally I ask the question I've been dying to ask ever since we were first kidnapped. "Okay, but what's all that got to do with me? And Mick and Mart? I presume they are in this neck of the words because of you."

My mum smiles a happy smile. "The Modulation has nothing to do with you. You are here to be part of the other use of the machine."

"Enhancement," I prompt.

"Indeed," she replies. She looks positively radiant with happiness. I have never wanted to stab her so much. No-one would believe I was her daughter in a million years. I probably look like I've been pulled through a hedge backward and need to sleep for a hundred years. I probably look old enough to be _her_ mother. "You see, during our experimentation we have discovered that it is possible to pass on a mutant's power in a sharing device not dissimilar to young Rogue mutation." Which would help if I knew what her mutation was. "We also found that the most effective power enhancement occurred when there was a genetic link between each of the participant mutants," she explained.

"Okay," I said. "And that's lovely, but Mick and Mart and me aren't mutants."

Again I receive the sad pitying look. "Did you not think it odd that Oliver was the only mutant in the family. Knowing, as you do, that both you parents were mutants of quite astonishing power did it seem likely that Michael, Martin and yourself would have been nons?"

"But Dad wasn't a mutant," I say, confused.

"It's true, the man who raised you was, in fact, not a mutant," she says and I feel a flash of lead fill my stomach as I see Herr Lensherr still standing behind her. Oh God, please no. Not him. Anything else but not him. No. Not possible. Please, please please. He just cannot be my father. Please God no.

"So hang on," I say, through the pleading in my head. "You're saying Mick and Mart and me're all mutants and didn't notice?" Which just seems unlikely. I mean seriously, mutant manifestation is a big deal. Not to notice would be kind of like waking up one morning having grown double D breasts over night and NOT NOTICING THEM. I'll admit I'm pretty unobservant, but come on.

"Oh yes," she says. "Luckily I was able to guide Martin and Michael into the professions best suited to their abilities without too much difficulty, but poor Oliver. It was hard to think what might be best for him." Not many job opportunities out there for a penguin, I suppose.

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The security man was in the corner of the hut with a strangely vacant, but also quite terrified expression on his face.

Jean Gray had the headphones of Jubilee's iPod stuffed in her ears and was listening to music, while trying to mentally project it into the man's brain thereby evicting Ms Jacobson's mother.

Kitty Pryde was in a corner fiddling with some form of electronic device of her own creation, which seemed to be cannabalising the man's radio. Meanwhile Rogue hunted through drawers to try and find her something resembling scissors.

Jubilee was outside on sentry duty, wearing the man's peaked hat. She claimed she was wearing it in an effort not to be recognised. Storm suspected that it had a lot more to do with the fact that Jubilation thought she looked cute in the hat.

Storm was sitting in a chair and thinking. With luck and a following wind Kitty's device would work well enough to charge the iPod. That done hopefully Jean would figure out how to interfere with whatever the mojo on the guys was. No matter what Jean and Hank spouted about the science of genetics, mutation was always going to seem magical to Storm. She had once been called the all-powerful weather Goddess and worshipped as a God. It's sort of difficult to come back from that and accept scientific explanations for your powers.

Anyway, once Jean got the guys on side the whole plan would get easier. Then it would boil down to a simple smash and grab raid. What was worrying Storm was the inevitable what if... What if Jean couldn't figure out how to get the guys back? How the hell would the five of them get into the factory against Logan, Hank, Warren and three nons with guns and dogs?


	95. In which reference is made to conduits

"What the machine does is combines the power of four mutants in a kind of power-sharing loop by coupling them to a charge. One mutant, at the centre of the loop starts the reaction by passing a charge bilaterally to the two outposts on either side," she continues.

Looking at the machine now I can see a central throne like chair. The throne is shrouded in wires and other technological paraphernalia, making it appear like some kind of 'Frankenstein does thrones' to me. Left and right, about half way up are two more seats, these look like 'Frankenstein does kitchen chairs'.

"These two conduits will pass their enhanced powers on up the apex, which acts as a channel passing the power back down into the centre," she's talking about us. She's referring to us, me and my brothers, as conduits and channels. She is, in fact and psychotic mutant bad guy.

"As the machine settles into the cycle a pause is observed between each passage making them easier to predict. An ideal situation would result in the run down pausing at a point just after the apex passes it's power to the centre, effectively doubling the power of the centre. As this happens of course the centre will be beginning to pass further power on up to the bilateral points enhancing their powers as well. At a minimum we can expect the centre to see a fifty percent rise in the power and anything up to a twenty-five percent rise at each of the bilateral points." Okay. It's kind of weird to refer to your kids as bilateral points right? I mean, I know we weren't particularly close growing up and everything but even then, that isn't what a normal mum does, is it? I guess we're not in Kansas any more, Toto, I think. Welcome to bizarro world.

"And ideally the powers manifest in the apex should be as close as possible to the power manifest by the centre. And that's where you come in," she looks up to where the apex will be. Apparently the apex doesn't get a seat. They just get double rations on the wire situation. "So now that everything is ready… it is ready isn't it?" she asks as if slightly concerned about progress and receives an assenting nod from Herr Lensherr. "Good, then we shall proceed. Places everybody please."

"Hold it!" I cry as I am hustled away. "What happens to the apex? WHAT HAPPENS TO THE APEX! I'M NOT EVEN A MUTANT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" I am struggling and trying to kick out at the people holding me. It's not dignified but there you are. I'm terrified. This is it. This is where they try and kill me. And my mum is sitting serenely on the throne. My brothers are calmly linking themselves up to the kitchen chairs and I have one man with his arms wrapped round my body and two more hanging on to my legs. One of them is Remy LeBeau. He still has one hell of a shiner… My God it wasn't even that long ago.

This is not how I imagined Remy LeBeau touching my legs!

"HELP! SOMEBODY FOR GOD'S SAKE! HELP ME YOU BASTARDS!" I shout and am answered by the usual blank, mesmerised looks. Oh SOD.

"Oh will you please shut up," Mystique says as if I have been irritating her for far too long. "It's entirely possible that this won't kill you and then you'll be all mine. Don't you think you should save a little bit of you horrified terror for that little turn of events. Do you really think potential death is as bad as it can get."

"I'm not even a mutant," I say and am ashamed of the sob in my voice. "Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?"

"Oh you're a mutant alright," she says. "Hold her Sabretooth, I'm taking the cuffs off." He does, in hands like a vice. Below me I can feel Remy attaching some sort of manacle round one ankle, touching my skin. Alex Summer's is working on the other ankle. When did I last do my legs? Mystique wrenches one arm round in front of me and secures it in a similar way around the wrist.

"What did I ever do to you?" I ask.

"You're just annoying," she says. She tightens the cuff. "But on the bright side, you won't be for much longer." She steps back. "She's in! Engage the machine!"

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Thanks to everyone who is still reading, and to the few people who are still reviewing - I am still posting because of you. Can I just ask people to let me know if the story has gone bad though - I can only change things if people tell me. It's sort of difficult to be objective about your own work... Thank you, much appreciated, postgate.


	96. In which wings are clipped

Jubilation Lee, X-Woman extraordinnaire, mistress of disguise and sneakiness, was enjoying herself immensely. The fact that the peaked cap she was wearing had a tendency to slip sideways on her head, causing it to sit at a rakish angle only served to improve her mood. When the two teachers came out of the shack and disappeared into the shadows she knew it was her absolute duty to follow them and listen in.

"I just _can't _get in, 'Ro. I think we'll have to give up. They're up to something inside and we're going to have to interfere _right now_ or give up and get the hell out of here!" Jean was saying. She sounded panicked. Nothing new there then, Jubilee thought.

"It's alright, Jean. We can bring them down. I've thought about this. The girls have the skills. They've done really well in training. If we can neutralise the guys outside we'll be able to get in and once we're in it's just a matter of search and rescue, it'll be fine," 'Ro replied.

"But how are we going to get past them?" Jean asked.

"Don't worry about a thing," 'Ro said and Jubilee could here the smile in her voice. She'd never heard 'Ro sound so confident and relaxed before. "I've got a plan."

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To my surprise the machine doesn't particularly hurt. There is a mild tingling sensation in my wrists and ankles and then a sudden whoosh of power from the left. It spreads over my body and I can feel the prickle of it gliding through me. More power than I'd ever imagined flowing into me, widening my eyes, widening my smile, filling me up. Then suddenly there is a second burst from the right and I am literally coruscating with power. Little thunderbolts seem to dance over my skin.

And just as the prickling turns to pain the power floods out of me in a rush.

Down and out into the centre and I am left standing there, shivering with cold, surprise and a faint sense of nausea – it's almost like the shakes you get when you've been drinking too much. Maybe this is how cold turkey feels.

For the first time I am forced to acknowledge that I was a mutant, after all. Because now my power has been drained completely I can feel exactly where it used to be. And it's gone.

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"Right ladies, you know what we need. Let's go!" Storm is in her element now. She has a plan. She has her troops. Those guys are going down. The wind that whips up causes her hair to billow out in waves and her long coat to fill like a flag. Warren Worthington III isn't going to know what hit him.

Jubilee is already haring off across the rough ground shooting sparks from her wrists in a dazzling display of fireworks, drawing a shout of outrage from the security men. She looked exactly like what she is; some crazy kid out on a dare. They weren't to know how much havoc a little planning behind the dare could wreak.

There is a growl behind Storm as the Wolverine appears seemingly from nowhere. She doesn't even turn. She's relying on the Southern Belle for this one. Who else could take him down so fast – and who else could she attack without fear of killing them? The thump of his body into the ground is accompanied by a very quiet, "Sahrry Logan."

"Kitty go!" Storm heard Jean shout as she and Rogue cocooned the Wolverine in duct tape they had borrowed from the service shack at the entrance. To her credit the girl is already off. Speeding forward, phasing smoothly through obstacles as if she'd been born to it; as if she had never accidentally phased through the floorboards. Beast rounds on her and Storm watches almost amused at the look of astonishment on the big man's face as the child dives straight through him, heading for the wall.

And now Storm turns her attention to the man in front of her. Rain slicked and wind tousled his hair gleams in the dawn light. He stands bare-chested in front of her but she can see she has won. He cannot fly in weather like this. He dare not spread his wings for fear of breaking his precious flight feathers. He levels a gun on her with an air of calm that momentarily causes her a flutter of fear but suddenly Jean is there, and the gun is… not.

"Lie face down," she barks, the wind catching her voice and pulling it from her.

"Never," he calls. Gentlemen have a thing about surrender. She barely even has to glance at Jean before the man is face down on the uneven grass surface. She shakes her head; what would the Professor think about the state of this lawn? She crosses to her team-mate and snaps the immobilisers from her utility belt onto his wrists. She glances round, Logan is pulled unconscious next to Warren and Jean is already heading forward to deal with Beast. Rogue stands watching the two men with a set of determination in her grey eyes. One hand holds a stun gun, the other Warren's regular gun. She catches Storm's eye and gives the most fractional of nods. Storm smiles and starts the next run.

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Thanks all who reviewed, I appreciate it. Sorry this one took a little longer to upload than usual... please keep reading and reviewing I really appreciate it!


	97. A catalogue of Jubilee's advantages

Jubilee is impressed with the speed with which the men surrounded her. Okay, so she was mistress of the distraction, what with the multicoloured sparklers that she had produced from her wrists but still, in less than thirty seconds she had all three nons in her power.

Actually, in her power might be over-stating the case slightly. Technically they weren't in her power. Technically, she was surrounded by them, but they seemed very nervous of approaching the sparks, which seemed like a good thing. Another good thing was their reluctance to actually shoot at her. There were advantages to looking younger than you are, she thought. She wasn't aware that she looked exactly the age she was – fifteen. Most adults think fifteen year olds are still kids, and these guys were all old enough to be fathers.

The dogs were whining and pulling, unsure whether they wanted to attack or flee. Another advantage.

"Listen, kid, we don't want nobody to get hurt," one of the guys called.

"I don't care if you get hurt or not," Jubilee called back happily. Sometime she was going to just drop this into conversation with Bobby and John. They were gonna be just SICK!

"Look kid, toss the explosives, okay. We'll escort you and your friends off the premises no harm done," another one yelled. Jubilee let out a loud peel of laughter at that one; sent a blast of energy out towards the man. He yelped and jumped back in shock and fear. Sometimes it's just _too_ easy.

"I don't think so," she called, laughter tingeing her voice. She'd never had so much fun in her life. "I think you guys are going to lie down on the floor and let me cuff you so I can go about my business," she continued. "I think – "

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Inside Kitty pauses. She's in a room. Bathroom. Sink, toilet, mirror. Okay, what had Jean said? Ms Jacobson is at the top of a machine somewhere. Helpful when you aren't sure exactly where a machine is. Cautiously she started forward and phased soundlessly through the door of the room. Straight through Gambit.

"Hey," he shouted.

"Ooops," she said and phased back again into the bathroom. He turned and followed her in, slamming the door behind him. She darted through him, threw the lock to slow him down and phased straight back through the door. Unfortunately Gambit's shout had alerted the others and Sabretooth and Toad were both bearing down on her, fast. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex Summers heading for the doors. She hoped like mad the women outside would be able to handle one more.

Behind her the bathroom door exploded in a shower of splinters. Seemed like Gambit was in a snit and hadn't noticed that the lock was on _his side _of the door. She set off at a run again, promising herself she would ignore all distractions. Whatever they are, she could phase straight through them, right, so there is no point in stopping. It's hard enough to remember this in practice sessions. It's even harder now, as missiles of metal are pursuing her. Magneto.

"Can't touch me. Can't catch me," she chants as a mantra and throws herself up the steps to where Ms Jacobson is standing. For a second Kitty pauses. Ms Jacobson seems to be covered in crawling worms of light. And as if that wasn't horrifying enough she is laughing. Kitty feels the pull of the personality as she pushes herself upward and forward, towards the woman. Then suddenly she feels the shift, as the power begins to drain downwards.

"No," Ms Jacobson cries . Kitty hesitates for a long moment, unable to move and then catching herself in her delay she ends it. She darts forward, grabs her teacher and pulls her into phase, dragging them both backward, out of the machine. A gun cocks behind Kitty's head and she forgets everything she's learned. She takes a deep breath and phases straight through the floor – leaving Ms Jacobson on the metal platform with Mystique.

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Please keep reading and reviewing. I am writing as quickly as I can and I can use the encouragement! Thanks to all who are.


	98. In which disaster strikes, again

"She's gone!" Jean Gray screamed through the wind. "I've lost her. She was right here in my mind and now she's gone!" Rogue turned towards her with a look of concern in her soft grey eyes and then Jean saw a faint smile touch the girl's lips and heard the music filling the child's mind.

Even as the thought went through her head Jean felt the music overtaking her as well. "We are needed inside. Help me cut them loose," she said. It didn't occur to her that the mother's voice had replaced the daughters in her mind, but that was what had happened, a new voice, seamlessly blended with the music.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So it's me, Mystique, and a gun. Again. And this time I don't even have a semblance of mutant ability to help. Not that I knew I did last time, but this time I know I used to and I definitely don't any more, so it feels different, if that makes sense. Normally I'd say something smart or try to talk my way out, but so far today I have been locked in a room without any decent food or water. I've been forced to take a pee in front of arch my nemesis. I've watched my mum kissing a German teacher and I've lost a mutation. One I never even knew I had and even now don't know exactly what it _had been_. "So shoot me," I said. "For God's sake put me out of my misery and shoot me."

"Oh that would be far to easy," she says and then that damned vacant look settles over her face as well.

"Oh well _fine!_" I shout. "_Don't_ shoot me, see if _I_ care."

"Come with me," she says, her voice as flat as Oliver's had been earlier. Obviously the machine has worked. Obviously my mum's mutation had been enhanced to a point where she could control women as well as men. Obviously all this is utterly pointless and we are all going to die but the thing is; I lived with the boys when they were in this state. I know their reflexes had always been just that little bit slower when mum was around. So I do the first thing that occurrs to me. I jump straight up and grab a trailing wire. Swinging myself up and back, then flinging my weight forward, I kick Mystique as hard as I can in the solar plexus. She reels backwards, gun waving, and I wrap my legs around her gun arm trying to knock her grip off. If she got it together to pull the trigger I was likely to get a bullet it the gut but sometimes you just have to say ho-hum and give it a go. 

To be honest, I was past caring anyhow. Even as I felt the wire give, stretch and pull free, I was waiting for my own mind to disappear into the haze of whatever it is that swallows people. Waiting for the vacant look to overtake my own features. To lose myself in the mist that had covered my family for years. In some ways it might be a relief. Of course it might not be that great for the rest of humanity, to be completely lost to my mum's power, but hey, that's their problem, right?

I crash down on my back, the wire spitting sparks like an angry cat. I toss it away from us, hoping it won't hit a conductor and electrocute us both. Not that I care all that much about Mystique, but wrapped together as we are I'm pretty sure it'll kill both of us, not just her. On the way down Mystique's head had collided with my knee and she was now unconscious, which I can only view as a bonus. How much time do I have before she got me too? How much time before the reinforcements reached me and start tearing me to pieces? 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Alex Summers knocked Jubilee down with scarcely a thought. The power blasted out of him like a solar ray. The X-girl screamed in a high pitched wail as she was flung backwards by the force. And then suddenly everything changed.

"We are needed inside," Jean called to them both. Alex nodded, helping Jubilee to her feet. "Quickly." The girl nodded and they both set off at a jog.


	99. Concerning, Lordy, trouble so hard

"Okay she's unconscious," I whisper to myself as I watch Mystiques inert form. I'm really hoping she isn't dead, or brain damaged or something – that would totally confirm all her worst thoughts about me. "Don't move her, check breathing. Pulse." It's one of the drawbacks of being a teacher. You start talking to yourself. You can't help it; you get so used to having to verbalise every single thought process that they all come bubbling out of you in moments of stress. I once, in a supermarket, explained to myself that I was choosing to buy this particular brand of baked beans because they tasted nicer, not because they were cheaper. I also once found myself explaining to the empty air that if I didn't tie my shoelaces soon there was a risk I might fall over. 

I lean over Mystique's prone form and check her out. "I don't want her death on my conscience," I tell myself, virtuously. "Gun," I say and hook it into my hand. "Good," It's important to give yourself praise…

I always feel different with a gun in my hand. Like I've transformed back into the hard as nails, taking no shit, kill you as soon as look at you, immortal teenager that I once was. My first kill had been when I was sixteen – I'd shot him in self-defence and hit him in the neck. He'd bled to death, all the while spraying blood over all the cribs in the nursery. It was horrible to watch. Horrible to see the aftermath, when the body had been removed. The walls had to be redecorated. The carpet and mattresses were thrown out. Since then I had become dead-eyed, quick draw Mandy McGraw. Now when I killed people it was entirely purposeful, professional and causing minimal leakage over the furnishings. Like I say I'm a different person with a gun in my hand.

I check the gun with casual ease. Later this might disturb me but now I'm as calm and cool as an Alaskan ice hole. The gun is made entirely without metal, a fact that amuses me, resulting in a brief, twisted smile. It was the cynical smile I hadn't used since the last time. The smile said 'so be it' and it went with Mandy McGraw's persona. Pete Wisdom and I had invented Mandy McGraw to draw a line between that side of our work and the Missy fluff. It's hardly surprising I've got a slightly split personality, but as Pete always said, "It helps to have range." Another one of his was, "An unreasonable degree of shallowness demonstrates unforeseen depth." The man was full of crap but we had some laughs.

I have stepped back, away from the edge of the stairs, out of sight from the floor. Below I can hear a scuttering sound as the troops mass. I don't know what the next move will be, but I'm fairly sure they will notice Mystique's absence. And my own.

"Oh, Lordy, trouble so hard," I sing as I step towards the back of the machine. "Oh Lordy, trouble so har-ard." I pause momentarily before swinging myself up the back of the machine. "Don't nobody no my troubles but Gah-ahd." I push myself up, towards the rafters. They might see me, they might not. Ho hum. "Don't nobo-dy KNOW my troubles but God." I finish. I make my way to a sheltered ledge. Support beams criss-cross space, suspended three feet below the actual ceiling. I edge along them keeping my eyes and ears open for what is occurring on the floor below. How long do I have? Where will be the best place to set up the shot? Who should I kill first?

I count off the names again. "Lensherr, Misty, Munroe, LeBeau, Summers, Gray, Door girl, Circle Line, Pryde, Hairball," here I run out of fingers and make a mental note, if I shoot all of these, I'm also out of bullets. "Leaving, Fuzz face, Boy Blue, Greeny, Wings, Martin, Ollie, Mum, me." Of course, once I pick off Lensherr, potentially I can find a different gun and finish the rest with metal bullets. That only requires me to remain undetected and alive that long. Requires that they don't hear the first shot. Piece of piss, right?


	100. In which there is time for therapy later

I have come to a corner piece and am sitting with my knees up, back pushed against the concrete blocks of the wall. I am on a flat joint, where three of the girders join the corner of the wall. A faint prickling noise from my clothing catching the concrete occurs every time I move but I'm not worried about it. Even the Wolverine's enhanced hearing won't be able to pick it up. I'm too far away on. Three feet in front of me, and a mere eight feet down, held on metal spokes, is a metal walkway. Assuming the structure is continuous, below that there will be a second walkway, one level below. From there it is a mere thirty feet to the floor. Now it's just a matter of picking my moment.

Below I can now see them, lined up, my mum back on her stage in front of the MutMod, flanked by my two brothers and Herr Lensherr. Her back is to me, but I don't need to see her to hear her voice.

"Where are Mystique and Amanda?" her musical voice floats up to me. The heads of the others turn and there is a general murmur of ignorance.

"We shall want them before we head to the Institute," she trills, and the murmurs turn into sounds of assent.

"So go and find them, then," she says, her voice, to me sounds as shrill as a piccolo. Good. She's stressed. She didn't expect this. That puts me at an advantage.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Below, as I watch, the mass breaks into groups and splits off, looking. Munroe, Grey, Summers, Circle Line, Boy Blue, Fuzz Face and Wings head out the main doors. LeBeau, Pryde, Door girl and the nons head through a door into what may hold office space, or could be another storage centre. It's hard to tell. Lensherr, with a flick of his hand, strides purposefully towards the back of the space and vanishes from my sight line. In formation behind him are Hairball, Greeny and my two brothers. When they are gone the space is silent.

"Come out, Amanda," she calls to me. And a slippery eel in my gut suggests that she knows exactly where I am. I stick my tongue out at it. She doesn't, or she would have sent Wings up here to get me. All her experience of me is that I run far away and hide at the first sign of her. That's why she sent such a large contingent outside into the grey morning. She's expecting me to have got out – and I could have easily. Up here there are a mass of windows. In fact, any moment now, Wings will look in through one of them and see me. Time to move.

I take a deep breath, unsure if I can face all the inevitable bloodshed. Killing my Mum is one thing, but killing Ollie will give me nightmares, but then that thought vanishes. I don't have a choice. There'll be plenty of time for therapy later. Right now action is required. I inch out onto a beam and swing down so my feet are touching the thin metal handrail. The gun is tucked safely into the back of my jeans.


	101. Which is really the end

I find my balance between the handrail and the wall before releasing the crossbeam. Moving quickly, my hands come down to the rail and I clamber down the outside of the handrail. It takes barely a moment to find a support to use, like a fireman's pole, to slip down to the level below. The sounds of my descent are soft and natural, the sounds of a building. The sounds of the searchers are as loud to me as the noises I am making. Two thirds of climbing quietly is based on your level of confidence. The last third is all about controlling your muscles. I am a master at both - if only because I've got a gun at my back.

Until this point in my climb I have lost sight of my mum, which suited me since it meant I was out of her sight as well. Now I slip forward under the second hand rail and, resting the gun in front of me peek over the edge. I have a clear shot. I line up carefully and…

If you've never fired a gun you will have no idea of the sheer volume of the noise it makes, the feel of the kick against you. Her body falls and I pull myself back, away, so I am hidden once more. It may take a moment for the others to come. They will know I am in here, but not necessarily that where I am. It could take a little while. If they come back one group at a time I may be able to pick them off. Except my hands are shaking too badly. I hear footsteps then a cry from below. LeBeau. "Merde!"

More footsteps. There is a crash. I don't move, staying put, knees up, listening. 

"What are you doing in here?" I hear. One of the nons, aggressive. 

"It ahlrigh'," Door girl says. "Way're jurst fahn." There are a series of thumps and I peek over the edge of the platform. The guards have collapsed.

"Merde, Mud Pie. Wha' you doin'. You can' jus' touch people like dat! You coulda killet dem!"

"Weyell whut wars Ah sup-posed tuh do, Swahmp Rat? Leyt them shoot urs?"

"Dat's Mr Swamp Rat to you, righ' up till you gradua'e!" Remy replied.

Oh thank God. They're okay.


	102. Concerning the importance of socks

The journey to get here was long, weird and exhausting. Pushing open the door after 37 hours of trains, planes and buses is a profound relief. I step into the bar and look around. Regulars smile at me and make welcome home noises. Dan looks up from the pint he is pulling and gives me one of his grins. "Good to see you, Jay-jay," he calls. "Give us a minute, like and I'll get Lynne behind hyer and we'll 'ave a chat then. Looks like you could use a cuppa, there? Think there's some Welsh cakes like. Or would you rather toast? We'll 'ave a carry out tonight, I reckon. Two-forty mate please." The last is directed to the man in front of him. "Lynne," he's calling now, "Lynne love, can you take over hyer?"

"What d'you think, Dan-yel, that I've nothin' better to do than pull pints in your pub when I'm lookin' after your children day and night?" She comes in on a tirade of good-natured and familiar abuse, entirely fake. He got a good one there. "God almighty Jay, you been living in those clothes 'ave you?" she asks me. "Forgotten how to use an iron, is it? Do me a favour while your hyer, won't you, explain to your niece the importance of socks? Maybe she'll listen to you like."

"What is the importance of socks?" I ask innocently and Dan laughs.

"This one couldn't figure out the impor_tance_ of _shoes _half the time," he tells her and I pull a face at him. "Come on bach," Dan tells me and I follow him into the kitchen where he sets about producing tea and Welsh cakes and toast. "Ollie rang, like, said he'd got himself a new job, there, doing research with some scientific outfit on climate change or something. Setting off for Antartica, he was. Said he'd call you when he gets to Patagonia."

"I sorta lost my phone," I admit through a mouthful of toast and he laughs as he sits down opposite me.

"Not to worry, that's easy fixed, that is. Your Pete Wisdom's been calling to, you know, asking if you want a bit of a job with him. Sounds like the lot of them are thinking of getting out on the Service, although what they plan on doing with themselves is a bit of a bloody mystery. That Sean Cassidy's going with him, but your brother's stubborn as ever and says he'll stick with it and keep them honest, like. Mind if anyone's going to manage it, it'll be him though."

"That or they'll turn him inside out," I mutter, round more toast.

"Don't you think we'll drag him out by the hair if it comes to that? I'll set Lynne and the girls on them, won't know what's hit them, will they?" I laugh at the image as I finish the toast.

"So then, you going to tell me or am I going to sit hyer waiting forever?" He asks me after a pause.

I pull another face. "You'll be pissed, it involved climbing on a roof."

He laughs. "Didn't fall off it this time, though, did you? I only object when you fall off them, you should know that by now."


	103. Containing announcements concerning mice

So I tell him. Everything from the guy I hitched a ride with (who was from Minnesota and sounded straight out of Fargo. I had to keep from laughing all the way into town, and he was so kind. Gave me two hundred dollars and bought me breakfast for reasons I still don't understand) to the girl at the check-in desk who was wearing so much make up I was scared she might over-balance and drown. From the MutMod machine and Frankenstein's throne, to the train that broke down because a mouse had eaten some all-important wire in the doors, meaning we all had to 'exit by the rear of the train' straight onto the tracks. That actually had an official announcement: "We regret to inform you that a mouse has eaten the wires..." I'm not even kidding. Everything from mad mum and Mr Lensherr to Mud Pie and Mr Swamp Rat. I tell him everything, and when I finish I shrug. He nods.

"Alright," he says. "Sounds like a fair reason for moving to the States, but the girls'll miss you." I stare at him, wondering if he had even heard. When I'd climbed out the window of the warehouse and disappeared my colleagues had been engaged in a pitched battle with the Brotherhood. And I'd just walked away, well, actually clambered, crawled and scrabbled away, but you get the idea. I wasn't exactly supportive of the cause, and I just walked out on the kids, which a good teacher never does.

"You telling me I can't have my job back?" I ask him in fake incredulity. "I know there's a position open now Ollie's gone, man, you can't be tellin' me you ain't hiring!" His shrewd eyes watch me and a slight smile plays on his lips.

"I'm not hiring," he tells me, "but he is." He points to the door behind me and I turn to see the bald skull of the coot, sitting calmly, waiting.

"Jesus Dan," I exclaim. "What the hell are you thinking of?" He grins at me.

"Fed up of employing you, aren't I?" he laughs and heads out the door through which the Professor had entered.

"Ms Jacobson, I'm here to ask you to give the Institute a second chance. We would still very much like to employ you. We feel your unique skills and experience would be of particular use to us. And it would provide you with a safe environment in which to develop a much needed control over your own mutation." I stare at him in horror. I was being stalked by a bald guy in a wheelchair. I'd come here to get away and here he was. S_miling_. Sometimes it's difficult to know whether to laugh or cry. Instead of doing either I roll my eyes. It helps if you know your strengths.

"You know I would have killed them all if I'd had to?" I ask, testing the waters.

"Indeed I do," he says. "A brave decision, and demonstrating an unusual degree of clear-minded thought and self knowledge. I am also aware of the relief you felt when you discovered that this was not, in fact, going to be necessary. I repeat myself, I know; you'll have to forgive an old coot, but we feel your skills and experience could be particularly useful to us. And I truly do believe we could be useful to you." He turns his wheelchair as if to go and then turns back towards me at the door. "It's your choice, Amanda, let me know as soon as you can. Our intention is to stay locally tonight and return to the Institute tomorrow morning. You've missed a number of your classes, but Sean Cassidy and Pete Wisdom have been making every effort to cover them for you." Damn, I hope they were videoing those lessons. I would _love_ to see footage of Winston in front of a bunch of kids, _teenagers._ That'd be priceless. "Ms Munroe and I will call here first thing tomorrow to hear your answer."

And with that he is gone, leaving me to eat a curry with my family before making the decision of a lifetime. Cheers mate. Still, Dan'll probably let me back behind the bar if it all goes pair-shaped, right?

ooOoOoOoOoOoo

FIN

Thanks to all who have read and reviewed this story. I hope you have enjoyed it. I shall be up-loading the updated synopsis at the end and that will be the end, however it is just possible there may be the odd one shot piece subsequent to this epic including Amanda - simply because she is a fun character to write. I hope the end did not prove to be disappointing and that you were as amused by my character as I was...

Thanks, as always and any last reviews would be most appreciated,

postgate.


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